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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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11  Iv  HU^  Clpi  IIVj 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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1 

2 

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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'imagss  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MEMORIALS 


OF 


^-.  'i- 


MAEGABET   ELIZABETH, 

ONLY   DAUGHTER   OF 

REV.   ALBERT   DES   BRISAY, 

OP  THIS  PAOVINOB  OP  NKW-BEUN8WI0K. 


BY   A  FRIEND. 


"Early,  bright,  transient,  chaste  aa  morning  dew. 
She  sparkled,  was  exhaled,  and  went  to  heaven." 

YOUNO. 


'i: 


PUBLISHED  BY  CARLTON  &  PHILLIPS, 

SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION,  200    MULBBRRY-STEKKT. 

1856. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 
CARLTON   &   PHILLIPS, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern 

District  of  New-Yorlc. 


I 


■| 


% 


PREFACE 


56,  by 


uthern 


The  person  upon  whom  has  devolved  the  pleasing 
duty  of  preparing  the  follovring  memoir,  is  one  who 
was  intimately  acquainted  with  its  subject  from  her 
earliest  childhood,  and  who  enjoyed  the  privilege 
of  residing  under  the  same  roof  with  her  during 
the  greater  portion  of  the  years  that  intervened 
between  her  infancy  and  her  death.     The  facts 
contained    in   the   following   pages   are  detailed^ 
therefore,  from    personal   knowledge ;   and,   after 
witnessing  such  a   career  and  its  termination,  a 
strong  conviction  has  ensued,   that  so  bright  an 
example  of  early  piety  and  excellence  should  not 
be  permitted  to  sink  into  oblivion,  but  should  be 
held  up,  however  feebly,  to  the  imitation  of  the 
young,  especially  of  her  own  sex.    The  ruling  wish 
while  living,  of  the  departed,  was  to  do  good ;  and 
though  she  would  have  shrunk  from  public  notice  or 
approbation,  yet  now  that  she  has  put  off  the  taber- 
nacle of  clay,  and  become  even  as  one  of  "the 
angels  of  God,"  may  we  not  also  believe  that  she  is 
also  divested  of  all  mere  human  feelings,  and  that  the 


^^» 


9 


PEEPAOE. 


S  ^      I    "'^  *'  """'  ""''^  remarkable  is  swal- 
lowed up  m  the  one  desire  that  God  may  be  glorified? 
May  not  the  hope  also  be  indmged  that  t^Sce 

Sortand   I    T^  »ay  a„eompany  this  feeble 

mZl  o  ^r  ^^^  ''«"''  P'-°^''^  tl'^t  Margaret 
El  zabe  h  neither  lived  nor  died  in  vain  ?  Mysteri- 
ous indeed  are  the  ways  of  the  Allwise  in  the 

and  diversified,  minute  as  well  as  great  are  thfl 
nieans^hieh  he  employs  in  the  estabhshm  nt  of 

ot  the  wise,"  and  useth  the  '-weak  things  of  the 

^th  ?      rf  r'  *'"  *'""^^  ^J""!'  are  mighty  " 

that  no  flesh  should  glory  in  his  presence  "     S'h 

a  deep      ^.^  ,^^^^,^^^^  ^^  ^,^^ .      P  e       Wth 

vei  r„t"'  "''""  '"'"""  '-'rumentalities  W 
evei  imposing  in  appearance,  and  however  Cl 

arranged  and  efficient  in  ope;ation,  and  with  an 
0  stw  folT'""°"'  *^^  "'^^  --kestlttl;^ 

voice  Jat  «Vnot  ^d^Xtrir  ? 

A.  E.  K. 


le  is  swal- 
glorified? 
the  grace 
faithfully 
lis  feeble 
Margaret 
Mjsteri- 
e  in  the 
umeroiis 
are  the 
ment  of 
counsels 
3  of  the 
nighty," 
*    With 
isidered 
s,  how-  • 
er  well 
i^ith  an 
ittempt 
by  his 
food  to 
epared 

I  good 

vith  a 

heart 

ND  DO 


CONTENTS. 


— — — ♦ — "" 

Paqb 
Ohaptbb  11 

I.-.BIRTH  AND  EARLY   CHILDHOOD ^^ 

IL— SCHOOL-DAYS   *  ^^ 

III. — TRYING   SCENES ^g 

IV.— LEAVING   HOME g^ 

v.— LAST  SCENES   OF   LIFE    ^^^ 

VI.~TRA1TS  OP   CHARACTER ••" 

POETRY. 

135 

A  CRY  TO  THE  MISSIONARY ^^^ 

TO  THE  MOON  ,og 

A  LITTLE  WHILE ' ^^^ 

TO  MY  BROTHER ^^^ 

TO  A  ROSE-BUD  IN  MARCH ^^^ 

THE  WINTER  WIND  -^^ 

BIRTH-DAY  STANZAS ^^^ 

TO  A  FRIEND  ON  HER  MARRIAGE - 

TO  MY  MOTHER ,  ,_ 

THE  DEATH   OF  MOSES 

A  VALENTINE  TO  MY  BROTHER • 

PARTING  WORDS 

^^°'^  .....153 

THE   DESTROYING  ANGEL ••"• 

THE   FIRST  SABBATH    SCHOOL 


8 

CONTENTS. 

A  FRAGMENT.... Pagb 

AUTUMN  MEMORIES 1^2 

DECEMBER  MUSTN(iS... ,.. ,, ^^^ 

BURIAL  AT  SEA '* 168 

HOME   THOUGHTS... ^^^ 

THE  MARTYRS  OPmIdEIr'^' ^''^ 

^  owre  true  tale .' ^^^ 

A  LEAP  FROM  LIFE  .....'. ^^^ 

STRAY  THOUGHTS  ......' ^10 

MEMORIES  OP  THE  YeIr ^14 

okeetings  for  the  absent 21^ 

SABBATH  ECHOES 222 

THE  EREBUS  AND   TERROR ^^^ 

ARE  WE  NOT  DREAMERS         ^^9 

233 


Pagb 
•••••#..  162 

164 

168 

t..  173 

177 

180 

205 

210 

^14 

217 

•  •  •  •  ■  •  JL2t2i 

225 

22^ 

233 


lUustratiffttS. 


PAGB 
8ACKVILLE  ACADEMY    2 

READING  TO  A  BLIND  MAN    36 

PARTING  WITH  HER  FATHER    64 

READING  THE  WORD  OF  GOD • 102 

TO  MY  BROTHER 140 

PERSECUTION  IN  MADEIRA   201 


('h 


MEMOKIALS 


OF 


MARaARET  ELIZABETH  DES  BRISAY. 


CHAPTEE  I. 


BIRTH   AND   EARLY   CHILDHOOD. 


Margaret  Elizabeth  Des  Brisay  was 
born  at  Sheffield,  New  Brunswick,  March 
23,  1836.  In  her  infancy  she  was  ex- 
tremely feeble  and  delicate,  but  by  the 
time  she  had  completed  her  second  year, 
she  had  entirely  recovered  her  health,  of 
which  blessing,  from  that  period,  she  en- 
joyed as  large  a  share  as  generally  falls  to 
the  lot  of  mortals.  The  first  seven  yeai-s 
of  her  life  were  nearly  all  spent  in  the 
town  of  St.  Andrews,  to  which  place  her 
parents  removed  a  few  months  after  her 


12 


MAKGAKET  ELIZABJJTH. 


birth.  In  this  secluded  spot,  her  principal 
companions  were  the  memb;rs  of  her  own 
family,  the  most  of  whom  had  attained^o 
jears  of  maturity.  To  supply  the  want 
of  associates  of  her  own  agefher  lively 
anagination^at  three  years  old,  conjS 

«..  hourTXra^:;7ir:h:t 

represented  by  UirS^d^^ alC 
anguage,  and  tone  of  voice,  varied  so  S 

each     Had  this  early  taste  been  fostered 

important  bearing  might  it  not  have  had 
on  all  Margaret's  future  course !  and  what 
a  different  being  would  she  have  become 


J 


i  I 


BIRTH   AND   EARLY    CHILDHOOD. 


13 


I'  principal 
)f  her  own 
ittained  to 
the  want 
ier  lively 
conjured 
nd  inter- 
rj  scenes, 
)  in  what 
t.     Each 
once  was 
t'  action, 
^ed  so  as 
acter  of 
fostered 
what  an 
ave  had 
ad  what 
become 
mother, 
isement 
e  a  love 
'orbade 
of  how 
by  this 
that  as 


soon  as  the  maternal  prohibition  was 
issued,  this,  her  favorite  recreation,  was 
at  once,  and  forever,  unmurmuringly 
abandoned.  The  sacrifice,  however,  as 
she  has  since  acknowledged,  cost  her 
many  silent  tears. 

Soon  after  this  her  attention  was  direct- 
ed to  the  subject  of  learning  to  read.  She 
had  previously  been  taught  the  alphabet, 
and  to  spell  words  of  one  syllable,  but 
now,  her  father  having  presented  her  with  a 
New  Testament,  her  ambition  was  fired  to 
obtain  the  key  which  could  unlock  all  its 
treasures.  She  therefore  set  herself  to 
work,  with  the  greatest  energy,  to  master 
its  contents.  Beginning  at  the  first  part 
of  the  book,  she  went  regularly  on,  study- 
ing carefully  each  word,  as  it  occurred, 
until  perfectly  acquainted  with  it.  Carry- 
ing the  volume  about  with  her,  she  had 
recourse,  when  at  a  loss,  to  any  person 
she  might  meet,  to  solve  her  difiiculties, 
and  to  inform  her  "  what  such  a  word  was," 
and  "what  such  letters  spell."  In  this 
manner,  and  without  any  other  assistance, 
she  taught  herself,  in  a  few  weeks,  to  read 


14 


MAKGARET  ELIZABETH. 


1 


with  great  ease,  not  only  the  Testament, 
but  any  common  book.     And  now  a  wide 
and  an  exhaustless  field  was  opened  before 
iier,  which  her  ardent  and  inquiring  mind 
through   all   her  subsequent  life,    never 
wearied    in   exploring,   where    it    never 
nagged  m  its  onward  progress,  till  the 
iron  pressure  of  mortal  disease,  paralyzing 
the  physical  energies,  cast  its  benumbing 
mfluence  also  over  her  mental  powers 
The  love  of  knowledge   being  so  eariy 
awakened  within  her  breast,  ceaseless  and 
untirmg,  henceforth,  were  her  efforts  in  its 
acquisition.     But  those  efforts  were  will- 
ing and  spontaneous,  such  as  the  heart 
puts  forth  for  the  possession  of  the  obiect 

fLll^r'F-  ^"""'^"^"y  addingto  her 
fund  of  information,  these  increasing  ac- 
cumulations  of  mental  riches  were  liLd- 

tt"LY  '  ""^^^  ^  «iiser-like  care  and 
watchfulness. 

Her  acquaintance  with  the  Scriptures 
began  ^t  the  time  of  learning  to  read,  and 
•IS  years  roiled  on,  it  became  more  and 
more  mtimate  and  extensive.  Besides 
daily  reading  the  Bible,  and  having  it  ex- 


Testament, 
low  a  wide 
med  before 
ring  mind, 
lie,    never 

it  never 
s,  till  the 
Daraljzing 
enumbing 
1  powers. 

so   early 
seless  and 
brts  in  its 
>^ere  will- 
;lie  heart 
be  object 
ng  to  her 
ising  ae- 
:*e  hoard- 
3are  and 

3riptures 
3ad,  and 
tore  and 
Besides 
ig  it  ex- 


BIRTH    AND   EARLY    CHILDHOOD. 


15 


plained,  and  learning  portions  of  it  on  the 
Sabbath,    she   commencerj   the   practice, 
which  she  ever  after  continued,  of  commit- 
ting to  memory  one  verse  or  more  each 
day.     It  was,  no  doubt,  this  study  of  the 
sacred  volume,  combined  with   religious 
instruction  and  training,  which,  under  the 
Divine  blessing,  was  successful  in  exciting 
in  her  mind,  from  a  very  tender  age,  an 
interest  in  sacred  subj  ects.     In  her  seventh 
year,  this  interest  deepened  into  an  anx- 
ious concern  for  her  salvation.     "  I  cannot 
tell,"  she  would  say,   "why  I  am  not  a 
Christian.     I  am  sure  I  wish  to  be  with  all 
my  heart,  and  I  am  always  praying  to  the 
Lord  to  make  me  one."     In  this  inquiring 
state  she  remained  some  time,  till  at  length, 
one  day,  conversing  with  a  friend  about 
her  feelings,  the  way  of  salvation  was  ex- 
plained to  her  in  a  simple   manner,  and 
she  was  encouraged  to  believe  that  God 
was  willing  to  forgive  her  sms  now,  be- 
cause the  Saviour  had  died  for  her.   While 
her  friend  was  speaking,  her  countenance 
suddenly  became  irradiated,  and  she  burst 
forth  into  expressions  of  wonder  and  praise. 


16 


'"i 


if 


MAEGAEET  ELIZABETH. 


"  Could  it  be  true  that  she  mi^ht  now  K 
forgiven  for  Christ's  sake?    Yes  S\ 
^ue."    Shp  Pmii.i        1  J^es,  It  was 

feet,  for  th   S'ofl^r '^^^^ 
God  reconcilef  i    Ch^^il^r^" 
heart,"  and  she  was  "fiLdt  t,   W     !!" 
peace  in  believing."    «  o  »  ^^     "'.^  ^"*^ 

a  hi^h  wall  iiisf  K.^.  ^      ^^^^^  ^^^ 

6^  vvdii  just  beiore  me  hnf-  n/^«r  u  • 

".nee  of  dt,rSl«?r«.r  f '  "" 

1/  age,  not  quite  seven  years    olaa^ 

into  the  liXt  anTl-K    f^'^I"'''  "^"^'^^e 

of  God.    ThereaJtv  ?f  °^  *^^  ^'^^^^''^'^ 
proved  bwif         -^  ^^  ^^'"  conversion  was 

c  Wter";  te---  -d  influenra 

a.eneralll\::frc;^^^^^^^ 

martable  in  one  so  youn  "    R       ™?  ''- 

Avas  not  « like  *holT  ^'    ?^''  goodness 

early  dew  wh^  ^'™'°^  ^^^^^  ^^^d  the 

.        '  '^h'^'h  soon  pass  away,"  but 


L 


BIBTH    AND   EARLY    CHILDHOOD. 


17 


gilt  now  be 
i^es,  it  was 
Joubt  ''the 
Js  Gospel," 
ne  into  her 
*  joy  and 
exclaimed, 
me.    Be- 


^coming  a 
there  was 
now  it  is 
is,  of  the 
0  the  en- 
'  human 
this  very 
J  clearly 
ch  trans- 
it* nature 
children 
sion  was 

Juential 
and  by 

mljre- 
>odness 
nd  the 
/'  but 


"  as  the  shining  light,  which  shineth  more 
and  more  unto  the  perfect  day." 

From  this  period,  through  all  her  after 
course,  she  seemed  ever  actuated  by  firm 
religious  principle,  and  by  a  conscientious 
regard  to  duty,  though  she  was  not  with- 
out those  variations  of  feeling  which  gener- 
ally mark  the  experience  of  the  Christian. 
Truly  interesting  and  affecting  was  it  to 
witness,  in  this  infant  believer,  the  devel- 
opment of  Christian  motives,  hopes,  joys, 
and  affections ;  in  short,  to  contemplate  in 
her  all  those  distinctive  traits  which  are 
characteristic  of  the  "  new  creature  in 
Christ  Jesus."  Among  these,  one  of  the 
most  early  observable,  was  an  ardent  de- 
sire for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  others,  par- 
ticularly for  that  of  the  junior  members  of 
her  own  family.  Carefully  did  she  watch 
to  discover  in  them  any  indications  of 
good,  such  as  increased  seriousness,  or  at- 
tention to  prayer.  "  I  really  do  believe," 
she  exclaimed,  one  day,  running  into  her 

mother's  apartment,  "  that  A has  gone 

into  his  own  room  for  prayer;"  and  she 
skipped  up  and  down  with  every  demon- 


18 


MAKGABKT  ELIZABETH. 


stration  of  delight.    She  was  not  mistaken 
in  her  surmise ;  and  when,  shortly  after 
her  wishes,  with  respect  to  him,  were  ac- 
complished, nothing  could  exceed  her  ioy 
As  a  further  evidence  of  the  genuineness 
ot  her  piety,  we  may  mention  her  great 
tenderness  of  conscience,  and  her  sensitive- 
ness  to   any  wanderings  of  mind   from 
Orod,  or  diminution  of  her  religious  joys 
As  an  illustration  of  this,  a  circumstance 
may  be  related,  which  occurred  about  two 
months  after  her  conversion.     She  was 
at  that  time,  attacked  with  the  measles,' 
and  became  quite  ill.    Her  mother,  one 
morning,  commiserating  her  suffering  con- 
dition, she  replied :  "  Yes,  mamma,  I  am 
very  ill;  but  do  you  know  what  has  been 
comforting  me  in  my  affliction?  that  pas- 
sage, 'Our  light  affliction,  which  is  but  for 
a  moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far  more  ex- 
ceeding and  eternal  weight  of  glory  ' "  On 
recovering  so  far  as  to^be  able  to'  sit  up 
and  amuse  herself,  she  was  detained  in 
her  own  room,  on  account  of  the  severity 
of  the  weather,  for  several  days,  with  a 
little  brother,  a  few  years  younger  than 


W 


*^' 


•H. 

aot  mistaken 
hortlj  after, 
ni,  were  ac- 
eed  her  joy. 
genuineness 
n  her  great 
er  sensitive- 
mind    from 
igious  joys, 
reumstance 
I  about  two 
She  was, 
le  measles, 
1  other,  one 
fering  con- 
tima,  I  am 
it  has  been 
?  that  pas- 
h.  is  but  for 
'  more  ex- 
orj.'"  On 
'  to  sit  up 
stained  in 
e  severity 
s,  with  a 
nger  than 


BIRTH   AND    EARLY    CHILDHOOD. 


19 


herself.  It  was  observed  that  she  appear- 
ed more  than  usually  engrossed  in  play, 
and  that  no  remark  was  volunteered  by 
her  on  the  subject  of  religion.  When 
permitted  to  leave  her  apartment,  as 
might  naturally  be  supposed,  she  was 
much  delighted.  She  hastened  to  her 
mother,  who,  after  fully  sympathizing  with 
her  in  her  feelings,  at  length  said,  *'  And 
how  is  your  mind,  Margaret  ?  do  you  feel 
happy  now  ?"  Her  face,  which  had  a  mo- 
ment before  been  radiant  with  pleasure, 
suddenly  changed  its  expression ;  she  hes- 
itated, and,  at  first,  made  no  reply.  On 
being  urged  on  the  subject,  "  No,  mamma," 
was  her  answer,  uttered  in  a  low  tone. 
"  "What  is  the  reason  ?  have  you  been  com- 
mitting sin  ?"  was  the  inquiry.  "  I  don't 
know,"  she  replied,  *'that  I  have  com- 
mitted any  sin,  only  I  have  been  play- 
ing so  much  with  A ,  that  I  am  afraid 

I  have  forgotten  God."  She  was  directed 
to  retire,  and  ask  the  Lord  to  pardon  her 
for  Christ's  sake,  and  assured  that  he 
would  again  restore  her  happiness.  She 
went  away  for  that  purpose  to  a  small 


20 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


w. 


I 


room  allotted  her  as  a  place  of  devotion, 
but  on   her  return  expressed   herself  as 
feeling  no  better.     "  I  do  not  see,"  added 
she,  "how   the   Lord   can   forgive   me." 
"My  dear,"  said  her  mother,   "he  is  as 
willing  to  pardon  you  now  as  he   ever 
was.     Can  you  not  go  to  him  as  you  did 
at  first  ?"    But  her  mind  was  now  clouded, 
and  the  way  of  access  to  God  seemed  in- 
volved in   obscurity.     Again  and   again 
did  she  withdraw  to  her  little  closet  to 
implore  forgiveness.      The   blessing   was 
more  easily  forfeited  than  regained.    Per- 
severing prayer,  however,  cannot,  in  the 
end,  fail  of  success.     She  came  at  length, 
and  with   a   countenance  beaming  with 
joy,  exclaimed,  "' O,  mamma,  the  Lord 
has  again  forgiven  me,  and  I  now  feel  as 
happy  as  I  did  before." 

One  of  the  most  early  indications  of 
Margaret's  spirituality  of  mind,  was  the 
great  interest  manifested  by  her  in  relig- 
ious conversation.  Every  opportunity  of 
being  alone  with  her  mother,  did  she 
eagerly  improve  for  this  purpose.  "  Now, 
mamma,"  she  would  say,  "there   is  no 


a. 

of  devotion, 
I   herself  as 
see,"  added 
)rgive   me." 
5   "he  is  as 
as  he   ever 
as  you  did 
ow  clouded, 
seemed  in- 
and   again 
le  closet  to 
essing   was 
ined.    Per- 
LHot,  in  the 
3  at  length, 
ining  with 
5  the  Lord 
now  feel  as 

ications  of 
3,  was  the 
er  in  relig- 
^rtunity  of 
r,  did  she 
e.  "  Now, 
lere   is  no 


BIRTn    AND    EAKLY    CHILDHOOD. 

one  here,  and  we  can  have  a  nice  time  to 
talk  about  good  things.'^'  Then  drawing 
her  little  chair  near,  she  would  sit  with 
her  face  upraised  to  her  mother's,  drink- 
ing in  every  w  jrd  uttered  by  her,  with  as 
lively  a  zest  as  children  generally  listen 
to  an  amusing  fairy  tale.  While  thus 
engaged,  an  hour  or  tv/o  would  pass 
away  without  her  attention  in  the  least 
degree  wandering. 

A  part  of  the  Sabbath  was  always 
spent  in  this  manner.  The  afternoon  of 
that  sacred  day,  she  and  the  little  brother 
before  mentioned  passed  with  their  mother, 
reading,  learning  and  repeating  hymns,  and 
portions  of  the  Scriptures.  This  employ- 
ment interested  them  much,  as  did  also  a 
little  prayer  meeting,  which  it  was  their 
practice  to  hold  at  those  times.  Accus- 
tomed almost  from  infancy  to  pray  vocal- 
ly, Margaret  could  express  herself,  even 
then,  with  much  readiness  and  appropri- 
ateness. This  capability  increased  by  ex- 
ercise, and  in  after  life  ripened  into  a  rare 
and  beautiful  gift  in  prayer,  distinguished 
for  humility,  fervency,  and  propriety  of 


X 


22 


MAJRGARET  ELIZABETH. 


expression.     While  attending  the  public 
worship   of  God.   her  conduct  was  such 
as  to  be  observed  by  those  around  her. 
"Your  little  girl's  behavior  at  church  is 
really  remarkable,"  said  a  friend  to  Mrs. 
D. ;  "she  sii    apparently  absorbed,  never 
taking  her  ejt.o  off  from  the  minister,  as 
if  she  would  not  lose  a  word  he  says."    It 
cannot  be  supposed  that  a  child  of  seven 
could  fully  comprehend  all  that  was  utter- 
ed on  such  an  occasion,  but  she  under- 
stood and  remembered  enough  to  be  able 
to   repeat  at  home  not  a  little   of  each 
sermon  she  might  hear.     This  was  her  in- 
variable custom;  and  in  a  few  years,  so 
great  became  her  proficiency  in  this  art, 
that  it  was  observed,  a  more  satisfactory 
account  of  a  discourse  could  be  obtained 
from  her  than  from  any  other  member  of 
the  family. 

As  has  been  intimated,  Margaret  had 
become  enthusiastically  fond  of  reading, 
but  her  favorite  book,  when  a  young- 
child,  was,  next  to  the  Bible,  the  Pil- 
grim's Progress.  Over  its  pages  she  hung 
entranced,  and  such  a  hold  had  its  most 


BIRTH    AND    EARLY    CHILDHOOD. 


28 


the  public 
;  was  such 
round  her. 
t  church  is 
nd  to  Mrs. 
bed,  never 
linister,  as 

says."  It 
d  of  seven 
was  utter- 
ihe  under- 
to  be  able 
3  of  each 
vas  her  in- 

years,  so 
n  this  art, 
itisfactory 
)  obtained 
lember  of 


^aret  had 
■  reading, 
a  young 
the  Pil- 
she  hung 
I  its  most 


interesting  scenes  taken  upon  her  imagi- 
nation, and  so  firmly  were  they  impressed 
upon  her  memory,  that,  without  having 
intentionally  learned  a  sentence,  she  could 
repeat  verbatim  a  great  part  of  the  vol- 
ume. In  after  life,  she  has  said  that  she 
could  well  understand  and  sympathize 
with  the  feelings  of  the  little  girl  who 
imagined  the  story  to  be  literally  true, 
and  actually  set  forth  herself  on  a  pil- 
grimage. She  (Margaret)  was  only  wait- 
ing for  an  opportunity  to  do  the  same. 

When  Margaret  was  about  nine  years 
old,  she  had  a  very  severe  illness,  so  that 
her  life  was  considered  in  danger  for  s'^me 
days.  Her  mind  was  in  a  peaceful  and 
happy  state,  and  quite  resigned  at  the 
prospect  of  death.  Her  mother  inquiring 
of  her  why  she  was  willing  to  die,  she 
replied,  "Because  I  think  the  Lord  has 
forgiven  me  all  my  sins."  During  the 
whole  of  her  illness,  her  composure  was 
equal  to  that  of  an  aged,  experienced 
Christian ;  she  seemed  to  be  resting  on  a 
solid  foundation. 


24 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


CHAPTER  11. 


I 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 

In  June,  1843,  Margaret's  family  removed 
to  Sackville,  where  neariy  all  the  remain- 
der of  her  short  life  was  passed.     Her  in- 
tellect was  now  rapidly  expanding,  and 
she  evinced  powers  of  thought  and  reflec- 
tion   that   might    be    called   precocious. 
Being  placed  under  a  regular  course  of 
instruction,  her   education   began   to   be 
systematically  carried  on.    This  afforded 
her  much  gratification .  so   irdeni  was  her 
desire  for  improvement.     Close  applica- 
tion to  study,  far  from  being  considered 
by  her  a  wx^arisome  task,  was  her  delight. 
No  incitement  to  diligence  was  necessary 
in  her  case,  nor  was  any  supervision  re- 
quired with  respect  to  her  attending  to 
her  studies.    This  was  left  entirely  to  her- 
self,  and  the  result  always  proved  that  she 
was  fully  prepared  at  the  appointed  time. 


SCHOOL-DAYb, 


25 


Ij  removed 
he  remain- 
.     Her  in- 
iding,  and 
and  reflec- 
)reeoeious. 
course  of 
^an   to   be 
s  afforded 
lb  was  her 
3  applica- 
3onsidered 
3r  delight, 
necessary 
vision  re- 
snding  to 
sly  to  her- 
i  that  she 
ited  time. 


Her  assiduous  efforts,  combined  with  her 
excellent  natural  abilities,  could  not  fail 
of  making  her  successful  in  acquiring  a 
knowledge  of  the  different  branches  to 
which  her  attention  was  directed.  But  it 
was  in  the  general  culture  of  the  mind  that 
she  particularly  excelled.  This,  at  ten  or 
twelve  years  old,  was  far  in  advance  of 
her  age.  Her  understanding  s^^emed  in- 
tuitively to  take  in  the  ideas  and  views 
that  belong  to  a  more  mature  period  of 
life,  and  her  language  and  mode  of  ex- 
pressing herself  indicated  this  in  no  small 
degree.  A  rich  intellectual  repast  did  she 
enjoy  when  permitted  to  listen  to  the 
conversation  of  persons  of  education  and 
refinement.  At  such  times  she  would 
ensconce  herself  in  a  corner,  and,  silent 
and  almost  motionless,  with  her  eyes 
riveted  on  each  speaker  alternately,  ap- 
p:ar  lost  to  all  surrounding  objects.  As 
soon,  however,  as  the  company  had  with- 
drawn, and  the  family  were  again  alone, 
she  would  manifest  her  pleasure  by  her 
usual  demonstration  of  lightly  skipping 
about  the  room,  repeating  over  what  had 


26 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


m 


M 


particularly  impressed  her  imagination, 
such  as  a  new  fact  or  a  striking  senti- 
ment. 

Margaret's  mental  constitution  disposed 
her  to  be  singularly  alive  to  all  that  was 
beautiful  around  her.  The  visible  creation, 
the  varied  landscape,  awakened  early  in 
her  breast  emotions  of  admiration,  and 
stirred  up  within  her  poetic  thoughts  and 


images. 


Passionately  fond  of  flowers,  she  con- 
sidered it  one  of  her  highest  indulgences 
to  cultivate  a  little  plot  of  ground,  that 
bad  been  granted  her  for  a  garden.    Gom- 
bined  with  her  love  of  nature,  and  of  in- 
tellectual  pursuits,   was   a  taste  for  the 
simple  and  innocent  pleasures  suitable  to 
her  age  and  circumstances.     She  was  a 
child  of  great  vivacity  of  disposition,  and 
entered  into  the  sports  of  her  little  com- 
panions  with  the  utmost  zest.     But  she 
was   always  remarkable   for  gentleness; 
never,  in  her  moments  of  the  greatest  ex- 
hilaration of  spirits,  being  rude  or  boister- 
ous.   She  possessed,  also,  a  great  fondness 
for  those  domestic  animals  that  are  found 


m 


H. 

imagination, 
riking  senti- 

ion  disposed 
all  that  was 
ble  creation, 
led  early  in 
iration,  and 
boughts  and 

;*s,  she  con- 
indulgences 
Tound,  that 
den.  Gom- 
,  and  of  iu- 
ste  for  the 

suitable  to 
She  was  a 
Dsition,  and 
little  com- 
But  she 
gentleness ; 
greatest  ex- 

or  boister- 
at  fondness 
:  are  found 


SCHOOL- DAYS. 


27 


in  every  house,  and  the  very  sight  of  a 
cat  or  dog,  or  a  bird,  would  throw  her 
into  raptures  of  delight.  So  strong,  in- 
deed, was  her  propensity  for  petting  vari- 
ous kinds  of  living  creatures,  that  it  was 
often  smilingly  observed,  should  she  ever 
be  mistress  of  a  house  of  her  own,  it  would 
be  turned  into  a  menagerie. 

Of  acute  and  tender  sensibilities,  it  was 
essential  to  Margaret's  happiness  to  love 
and  to  be  loved.  Naturally  amiable,  af- 
fectionate, and  obliging,  a  word,  a  look 
from  her  parents  or  friends  was  sufficient 
to  guide  her  ;  as,  therefore,  harshness  and 
severity  were  in  her  case  unnecessary,  so 
they  were  never  employed,  and  to  her 
were  entirely  unknown.  It  is  a  matter  of 
rejoicing  to  her  family  now,  that  her  child- 
hood was  so  eminently  happy.  Living 
from  her  earliest  years  in  the  atmosphere 
of  kindness  and  affection ;  endowed  with 
susceptibilities  that  made  it  a  necessity  of 
her  nature  to  derive  pleasure  from  each 
object  of  beauty  or  sublimity  that  met 
her  eye  ;  the  "  ample  page"  of  knowledge 
unfolding  itself   daily   to   her   inquiring 


28 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


d   ■ 


til 


S>- 


gaze,  liow  many  were  her  sources  of  en- 
joyment. But  to  these  she  added  one  still 
richer,  being  even  at  that  early  period  in 
possession  of  "  the  faith  which  touches  all 
things  with  hues  of  heaven."  How  vivid- 
ly is  she  now  before  the  "  mind's  eye,"  as 
she  then  appeared;  a  bright,  a  joyous  little 
being;  all  life,  all  animation,  bounding 
along  with  a  bird-like  motion,  her  coun- 
tenance lighted  up  with  an  expression  in- 
dicative of  the  gladness  within ! 

^  Before  Margaret  had  fully  attained  her 
ninth  year,  she  commenced  penning  down 
her  thoughts  on  paper.     Her  first  essays 
at  composition  consisted  chiefly  of  descrip- 
tions  of  natural  scenery,  and  reflections 
upon  the  characters  and  facts  she  became 
acquainted  with  in  her  reading.     They 
were  written  in  a  kind  of  poetical  prose, 
and  were  the  spontaneous  effusions  of  her 
own  mind,  her  friends  not  being  aware  for 
some  time  of  the  habit  she  had  formed,  or 
in  what  manner  she  was  engaged.     We 
insert  one  or  two  of  her  earliest  attempts, 
not,  of  course,  for  their  intrinsic  merit, 
but  merely  as  specimens  of  the  thinkino* 


"^ 


iirces  of  en- 
[cled  one  still 
*ly  period  in 
1  touches  all 
How  vivid- 
id's  eje,"  as 
joyous  little 
1,  bounding 
I,  her  coun- 
:pression  in- 
i! 

ittained  her 
lining  down 
'  first  essays 
'  of  deserip- 
refleetions 
he  became 
ng.     They 
tical  prose, 
lions  of  her 
;  aware  for 
formed,  or 
iged.     We 
t  attempts, 
isie  merit, 
3  thinking 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


29 


and   writing  of   a   child   of    nine   years 
of  age. 

"napoleon   BONAPARTE. 

"  Where  is  that  warrior  now — the  mighty 
dead?  Is  he  where  holy  angels  hymn 
their  sacred  numbers  forth  to  God,  their 
King  ?  or  is  he  where  no  ray  of  hope  can 
ever  penetrate?  He  opened  wide  the 
portals  of  eternity  to  hapless  thousands ; 
now  he  himself  hath  passed  into  that 
dread  and  changeless  state!  Even  hope, 
with  sweet  and  cheering  aspect,  scarcely 
dares  to  wave  her  pinions  o'er  his  tomb. 
How  vast,  yet  unlamented,  was  the  sacri- 
fice on  which  he  raised  the  costly  fabric 
of  his  fame !  Thousands  of  treasure  and 
of  human  lives  composed  the  mighty 
hecatombs ;  yet  he  who  caused  this  wan- 
ton waste  of  treasure  and  of  blood,  who 
deemed  his  glory  and  his  name  alike  im- 
perishable, and  who  thought  this  w^orld  of 
ours  too  small  to  fill  the  lofty  grasp  of  his 
ambition,  died  an  outcast,  exiled  from  his 
country,  friends,  and  home — a  lonely 
prisoner  on  a  distant,  rocky  isle." 


80 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


a 


THE   ESCURIAL. — A   FRAGMENT. 
*  ^  «-  ¥r  -3f  4f 

"  All  that  imagination  paints  of  beauty  or 
magnificence,  to  please  the  most  refined, 
luxurious  taste,  lie  spread  in  rich  profusion 
through    thy  spacious    courts   and    lofty 
corridors— save  in  those  dark  abodes  of 
death,  Avhere  sleep  Iberia's  kings.      Thy 
gloomy  founder,  too,  more  fitted  for  mo- 
nastic cell  than  for  the  pomp  and  splendor 
of  a  court,  unconsciously  reposes  'neath 
thy  stately    towers,   alike    incapable    of 
forming  schemes  of  vengeance  'gainst  the 
virgin  queen  of  Albion's  favored  isle,  or 
persecuting,  with  a  blind  and  fiery  zeal, 
the   opposers   of   his   faith.     How  many 
years  have  circled  out  their  revolutions 
since  he  passed  from   ofi"  this  stage  of 
action,  and  is  his  name  or  are  his  deeds 
forgotten  ?     No !    impartial  history,  with 
her  during  pen,  hath  marked  them  down 
for  future   generations,  and   drawn  with 
pencil,  dipped  in  deepest  shades,  the  out- 
lines of  the  dark  and  furious  persecutor." 


"■^^-f. 


ra. 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


31 


.GHENT. 
-X-  -Jf 

s  of  beauty  or 
Host  refined, 
cli  profusion 
3  and  lofty 
c  abodes  of 


dngs.      Tliy 
:ted  for  mo- 
uld splendor 
poses  'neath 
capable    of 
3  'gainst  the 
Dred  isle,  or 
i  fiery  zeal, 
How  many 
.revolutions 
is  stage  of 
3  his  deeds 
istory,  with 
them  down 
Irawn  with 
es,  the  out- 
)ersecntoi'." 


About  this  period  a  circumstance  oc- 
^curred  evidencing  her  conscious  and  glow- 
ins-  love  to  God,  and  at  the  same  time  her 
tenderness  of  conscience.  She  had  met 
for  some  years  in  a  class  that  assembled 
in  her  mother's  parlor,  and  might  be  said 
to  be  a  member  of  the  Church,  regularly 
receiving  her  tickets.  Though  lier  extreme 
youth  had  hitherto  prevented  her  attend- 
ing the  Table  of  the  Lord,  yet  she  had 
been  well  instructed  as  to  the  state  of 
mind  necessary  to  qualify  one  to  be  a 
worthy  partaker  of  the  sacramental  bread 
and  wine.  One  Sunday  morning,  on  re- 
turning from  public  worship,  whither  she 
had  gone  unattended  by  any  of  the  senior 
members  of  the  family,  she  came  into  her 
mother's  room,  apparently  laboring  under 
great  mental  agitation.  On  an  inquiry 
being  made  as  to  what  had  disturbed  her 
mind,  she  burst  into  tears,  saying,  ''  O 
mamma,  I  am  afraid  I  have  done  wrong ; 
I  did  not  think  of  it  till  afterward,  but  I 
am  afraid  it  was  very  wrong.  Mr. to- 
day so  earnestly  invited  all  who  truly 
loved  the  Lord  Jesus,  to  come  forward  to 


32 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


ii> 


the  Sacrament,  and  I  felt  I  did  so  love 
him,  that  I  went,  and  now— I  fear  I  ought 
not  to  have  gone — I  ought  to  have  spoken 
to  you  first."  Her  distress  appeared  so 
great,  that  it  was  necessary  to  comfort  her 
with  the  assurance  that  she  intended  only 
to  do  what  was  right ;  but  some  time  elapsed  * 
ere  her  tranquillity  could  be  restored. 

The  following  letter,  written  when  she 
was  scarcely  ten  years  old,  is  expressive  of 
her  ardent  affection  for  her  brother,  and 
also  of  her  desire  for  intellectual  improve- 
ment. It  is  the  only  one  of  her  early  let- 
ters that  could  be  found. 


f 
"t 


'i  I  1 


Sackville,  March  11,  1846. 

"  My  VERY  Dear  Brother,  —  Children 
of  the  same  parents  ought  never  to  be  at 
a  loss  for  subject-matter  when  they  write 
to  each  other.  As  you  are  at  such  a  great 
distance  from  ns,  it  is  necessary  I  should 
remind  you,  that  my  love  for  you  is  not 
at  all  abated ;  indeed,  I  think  that  the 
longer  you  are  away  from  me,  the  more  I 
love  you.  O  then,  dear  brother,  how 
happy  I  shall  feel  when  your  five  years 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


33 


m 


are  expired !  But  I  am  looking  forward 
to  a  shorter  period  than  five  years ;  my 
thoughts  are  frequently  occupied  with  the 
nearness  of  the  time  when  we  hope  to  see 
you  here,  on  your  next  visit  in  July  or 
August.  The  necessity  of  a  female  acad- 
emy here  has  lately  been  suggested,  and 
it  is  thought  that  the  project  will  be  carried 
into  effect.  For  my  part,  I  hope  it  will, 
before  my  day  of  improvement  is  passed, 
that  the  mists  of  darkness  with  which  my 
mental  horizon  is  beclouded,  may  be  dispel- 
led, so  that  I  may  not  be  quite  an  ignoramus. 
«         -H-  ^  ^  ^  *  * 

"  We  have  no  female  school  during  the 
winter,  but  E.  and  I  attend  to  our  studies 
after  dinner,  under  the  very  efficient  su- 
perintendence of ;  and,  7non  cherfrere^ 

I  have  lately  commenced  the  study  of 
French,  and  am  much  interested  in  it. 
If  you  do  not  look  about  you  I  shall  run 
ahead  of  you,  tnonsieur^  which  would  be 
rather  an  awkward  circumstance,  consid- 
ering I  belong  to  the  weaker  sex.  I  hope 
to  be  able,  in  about  a  month,  to  write  you 
a  French  note,  and  you  could  not  do  me  a 


34 


MAKGARET   ELIZABETH. 


greater  favor  than  to  answer  me  in  that 

language.  * 

"Ton  will  recollect,  that  in  the  after- 
noon, the  sun  shines  in  very  brightly  at 
the  parlor  windows,  and  some  member  of 
the  family  frequently  observes,  '  The  sun 
shines  in  so  brightly  it  almost  looks  Hke 
summer.'  A  smile  generally  passes  around 
the  room,  intimating  that  when  summer 
comes  we  shall  see  you.  A is  learn- 
ing to  read  nicely  ;  his  favorite  chapter  is 
the  second  of  Exodus,  the  story  of  little 
Moses.  He  is  so  fond  of  reading  it,  that 
one  day,  on   mamma's   saying,  'I  think 

^ 'has  read  that  so   often,    he   can 

repeat  some  of  it,'   to    our  surprise,  he 
rose  and  repeated  twenty-five  verses. 

:^  ^  ^  ^  ^'  ^  ^ 

''Now,  dear  A.,  give  my  kindest  and 
best  love  to  dear  grandmamma,  for  though 
I  have  never  seen  her,  I  love  her  very 
much  indeed,  as  it  is  probable  that  she  is 
so  much  like  papa.  Give  also  my  best 
love  to  all  my  other  relatives,  and  beheve 
me,  dear  A.,  your  very  affectionate  sister, 

"Maegaret." 


'k 


1  that 


!  sister, 

JET." 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


37 


She  possessed  very  tender  and  sympathet- 
ic feelings,  which  never  failed  to  be  deeply 
stirred  at  the  sight  of  woe  or  misfortune. 
"When  she  was  between  ten  and  eleven 
years  of  age,  a  gentleman  came  to  reside  in 
Sackville,  who  labored  under  the  deep 
affliction  of  being  blind,  lie  was  a  per- 
son of  superior  education,  and  quite  inter- 
esting in  appearance  and  manners.  Mar- 
garet's sympathies  were  immediately  en- 
listed in  his  case ;  so  much  so,  that  even 
the  sight  of  him  at  a  distance  would  excite 
her  in  a  very  great  degree.  Her  family 
having  formed  some  acquaintance  with 
him,  nothing  gave  her  greater  pleasure 
than  to  render  him  any  little  kind  atten- 
tion, or  contribute  in  any  way  to  his  com- 
fort, when  at  her  father's  house.  She 
also,  at  her  own  most  earnest  request,  and 
with  her  mother's  permission,  was  in  the 
habit  of  going  to  his  residence  for  the  pur- 
pose of  reading  to  him.  The  volume  she 
chose  for  these  occasions  was  "  Headley's 
Sacred  Mountains,"  a  book  which,  from 
her  previous  reading,  and  acquaintance 
with  the  details  and  scenes  illustrated  in 


I 


38 


MARGAKKT    I-LIZABETII. 


its  pages,  she  much  enjoyed.  The  fiict  of 
her  selecting  and  being  able  to  appreciate 
such  a  work  as  this,  may  give  some  idea 
of  wliat  was  then  the  matured  state  of  her 
intellect,  taste,  and  religious  tendencies.  ^ 
The  melancholy  circumstances  of  this 
gentleman  made  so  deep  an  impression 
on  her  mind,  that  her  feelings  were  pour- 
ed forth  in  the  following  manner : 

"  THOUGHTS  SUGGESTED  BY  SEEING  MR.  • 

"  'Tis  noonday,  and  the  glorious  sun  is 
shining  brightly  m   the   unclouded   sky. 
All  nature  is  hushed,  and  naught  is  heard 
save  the  soft  rippling  of  the  waves,  and  the 
wild  murmuring  of  the  dashing  waterfall. 
'Tis   evening,  fleecy  clouds  traverse   the 
wide  expanse  of  heaven  ;  the  retiring  sun 
is  gently  sinking  to  his  rest  behind  the 
western  hills.     '  Soft  and  pensive  twilight' 
steals  along  with  magic  wand,  ready  to 
gently  wave  it  over  all  the  earth,  hushing 
it  into   soft    repose.     These,    these,    are 
beauteous  all,  and  I,  in  days  gone  by,  have 
gazed  wiiii  mpiuie  on  tiiviii.     ^--.tv  t,-i  *  >« 


i 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


39 


change  lias  o'er  me  passed!  On  my 
vision  rests  a  sliadow,  dark,  profound  ; 
and  while  the  ^  vital  spark'  retains  its 
power,  I  ne'er  again  shall  gaze  upon  these 
scenes  of  nature,  all  glorious  as  they  are. 

^^^^    who    can    paint    how 

fraught    with    anguish    is    the    thought, 
the    oft-recurring   thought,    that  I  shall 
never  more  behold  those  cherished  ones, 
that    call    me    by    the    endearing    name 
of  husband,  tather,  friend  !     O,  there  are 
moments  when  the  memories  of  the  past 
sweep  o'er  the  soul   with  sadnees,  deep, 
unutterable,  like  to  the  music  of  a  mourn- 
ful dirge,  heard  from  a  distance  far. 
^  "  But  is  there  not  a  hope  beyond  this 
fleeting  life  ?     Is  there  no  glimmering  ray 
of  light  to  illumine  the  dreary  patlfthat 
spreads  itself  before  me  ?      Must  darkness 
ever  settle  down  upon  my  s])irit's  view  ? 
Must  stern    despair  forever   set  its    seal 
upon  the  future?     It  need  not,  must  not 
be.     There    is   a   brighter,    better   world 
above,  a  holier,  happier  clime  !    There  is  a 
lovelier  region  far  away,  where  those  who 
have  meekly  trusted    in  thpir  Hod    -^i^- 


1  /-\ 


'?. 


i 


ft 


^  : 


I.: 


V  " 
;     1 


■i     ( 


40  MAKaABET  ELIZABETH. 

have  trod  the  narrow,  toilsome  ^^'ay  ofjife 
with  firm  and  steadfast  steps,  shall  find 
their  resting-place,  their  home.  _  No  deep^ 
eninji  shadow  flits  across  the  spirit  in  that 
land    Premature  darkness  never  settles  on 
the  eyelid  there ;  but  life,  and  j  oy,  and 
brightness  hover  o'er  those  blessed  abodes. 
Mount  upward  then,  my  soul    and  with 
the  eye  of  faith  look  through  the  vista  ot 
the  coming  years,  into  the  boundless  re- 
gions of  eternity ;  there  is  thy  home,  thj 
blissful  home !    Then  let  the  memories  ol 
the  past,  with  all  the  rich  eiyoyraent  un- 
restricted vision  can  command,  forever  be 
forgotten,  or  eclipsed  in  the  unfading  and 
eternal  joys  that  lie  beyond  the  tomb. 

It  not  unfrequently  is  the  case,  that  the 
reputation  of  cleverness  in  a  child  is  at- 
tended by  the  disagreeable  accompani- 
ments of  vanity  and  forwardness  of  de- 
meanor. From  such  defects  as  these  Mar- 
garet was  unusually  free.  Her  parents  had 
ever  carefully  avoided  anything  like  a  dis- 
play of  her  peculiar  traits  and  acquire- 
ments, being  of  opinion  that  exhibitions  of 


SOHOOL-DAYS. 


41 


1 


this  kind,  whatever  stimuhis  they  may 
afford  to  education,  are,  in  their  general 
effect  upon  the  female  character,  unfavor- 
able, inducing  a  love  of  notoriety,  and 
having  a  tendency  to  destroy  that  modesty 
of  deportment,  or,  as  the  apostle  express- 
ively terms  it,  ^^  shamefacedness^'^  which  is 
the  peculiar  ornament  of  the  sex.  This 
course  of  procedure,  combined  with  her 
naturally  retiring  disposition,  resulted  in 
the  formation  of  a  character  and  manners 
singularly  modest  and  unassuming;  and 
during  the  period  of  childhood,  she  was 
known  to  all  beyond  her  own  domestic 
circle,  as  a  well-behaved  little  girl,  re- 
markable only  for  being  very  quiet. 


fS 


MABGAEET  ELIZABETH. 


OHAPTEE  m. 


f  ! 


m' 


«■( 


TEYING     SCENES. 

The  happiness  of  Margaret's  childhood  has 
been  spoken  of  as  being  snnny,  and  bright, 
and  without  a  sorrow.     Not  always  was  this 
state  of  things  to  continue.  A  cloud  at  length 
arose,  which  cast  a  shade  over  her  tuture 
life  and  tinged  her  feelings  with  a  sadness 
ever  after  perceptible.    Her  mother,  who, 
though  for  many  years  in  delicate  health, 
and,  in  a  measure,  laid  aside  from  the  ac- 
tive duties  of  life,  had  yet  been  able  to 
mingle,  with  cheerfulness,  in  the  domestic 
circle,  was,  in  the  arrangements  of  an  in- 
scrutable but  all-wise  Providence,  in  Au- 
gust, 1849,  attacked  with  a  violent  disor- 
der, which  prostrated  her  upon  a  bed  of 
intense  suffering,  ..■•om  which  she  has  iiever 
since  arisen.     Soul-harrowing   was    it  to 
witness  her  .,^irf;>7sms  of  agony,  and,  as 
weeks  and  nu    i^  <»  lengthened  into  yeai-s, 


& 


TKYING    SCENES. 


43 


of 


to  behold  the  sufferer  still  lingering,   at 
times  in  the  extremity  of  distress. 

Upon  Margaret  now,  at  this  early  age, 
devolved  the  duty  of  assisting  to  nurse  and 
wait  upon  her  mother ;  and  though,  on 
account  of  her  extreme  youth  and  inexpe- 
rience, she  could  act  only  in  a  subordinate 
capacity,  yet  day  after  day  found  her  in 
the  darkened  chamber,  beside  the  sick 
couch,  endeavouring,  in  every  possible 
way,  to  administer  to  the  relief  of  tlie 
afflicted  one.  Most  melancholy  were  the 
circumstances  in  which  she  was  now 
placed.  Besides  the  privations  consequent 
to  her  upon  her  mother's  illliess,  such  as 
the  suspension,  for  the  time  being,  of  her 
studies,  and  of  her  intercourse  with  her 
young  companions,  and  the  cutting  off  of 
her  usual  sources  of  enj  oy  ment,  she  had  now 
to  endure  what  to  her  was  more  deeply 
painful,  to  be  a  daily  beholder  of  almost 
unparalleled  sufferings  in  a  parent  so  ten- 
derly beloved.  What  wonder  is  it  that, 
in  such  a  situation,  the  sensitive  mind  of 
one  so  young  should  receive  a  wound 
fi'om  which  it  never  recovered  !     Though 


•J      Ui 


li' 


?i  f* 


44 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


years  brought  to  the  sick  one  an  alleviation 
of  distress,  and  caused  affliction  to  press 
more  lightly,  they  could  not  restore  to  the 
youthful  spirits  their  former  freshness  and 
buoyancy.  Her  very  countenance,  from 
this  time,  changed  its  expression,  being 
ever  after  of  a  decidedly  pensive  character. 
In  the  following  fragments,  written  by  her 
in  a  small  book,  she  alludes  to  the  altera- 
tion in  her  feelings,  produced  by  her 
mother's  illness,  and  by  an  expectation  of 
her  removal. 

"December  1,  1849.— The  present  year 
is  closing  swiftly,  and  soon  the  year  1850 
will  dawn  upon  us ;  and  O,  what  a  con- 
trast will  its  opening  scenes  present  to  the 
joyousness,  and  almost  mirthfulness  with 
which  we  welcomed  this  year !  Were  I 
to  dwell  upon  the  change  which,  as  a 
family,  has  passed  upon  our  spirits  in  one 
short  year ;  were  I  to  permit  myself  to 
brood  upon  the  recollection  of  days  that 
are  past,  the  thoughts  that  come  crowding 
upon  me  would  wring  from  me  tears 
of  bitterness.     But  it  may  not  be.     I  must 


TRYING   SCENES. 


45 


live  to    the    present    moment.     Let  me 
cherish  the  sweet  and  hallowed  memories 
of  the  past,  but  let  me  not  mourn  over  the 
sorrows  of  the  present,  or  the  prospects  of 
the  future;  for  before  winter  shall  again 
close  upon  us  with  his  icy  blasts,  a  yet  dark- 
er and  deeper  shadow  may  have  fallen  upon 
us ;  our  pathway  may  be  yet  more  cheer- 
less ;  our  fireside  may  be  yet  more  desolate ; 
we  may  be  yet   more  widely   separated. 
There  may  be  none  to  gather  in  gladness 
about  our  hearth,  and  almost  the  last  re- 
maining link  of  affection,  which  once  bound 
us  so  closely  and  lovingly  together,  may 

have  been  rudely  sundered. 

^  ^'  -y^r  ^-  #  ^  ^J 

"I  am  no  longer  the  joyous,  blithesome 
creature  that  I  was,  when  last  December 

*  *  ^  -H-  #  ^  ^ 

"The  year  1850!  with  what  is  it 
fraught?  with  happiness  to  some,  and 
misery  to  others  : 

*  He  comes  on  his  car  of  state 
To  weave  our  web  of  fate.' '' 

In  the  following  brief  extracts  from  let- 


II . 


46 


MAKGAKF/r    KLIZABinil. 


ters  written  at  this  period,  she  expresses 
also  the  same  feelings. 

'^  As  to  dear  mamma's  health,  it  contmnes 
about  the  same  as  when  I  last  wrote.   Con- 
stant  suffering    appears    to   be   her   lot. 
Neither  night  nor  day  has  she  any  rest  or 
cessation  from  pain,  though  nature  some- 
times sinks  exhausted,  and  she  sleeps  more, 
I  think,  than  when  you  left.     You  may  be 
sure  that  no  schemes  for  mental  improve- 
ment are  in  progress  now.     How  often  do 
I  look  back  from  my  present  position  on 
those  happy  days,  when  dear  mamma  was 
ill  the  enjoyment  of  a  moderate  degree  of 
health,  when  you  were  with  us,  and  we 
were  pursuing  our  studies,  and  were  all  so 
happy !     Alas !  I  fear  those  are  to  me  in- 
deed '  departed  days,  departed  never  to  re- 
turn.' 

"I  hope,  dear  E.,  you  will  never  know 
the  real  heart-sorrow  we  all  feel  at  present, 
in  seeing  poor  mamma  suffer,  without  the 
power  of  even  alleviating  her  sufferings. 
Ah !  how  changed  are  our  home  and  our 
prospects,  from  what  they  were  at  this 
period  last  year!  for  though  mamma  has 


ft 


-^ 


TRYING  SCENES. 


47 


a 


been  many  years  afflicted,  yet  such  was 
her  cheerfuhiess  and  fortitude,  that  her  af- 
fliction never  appeared  to  interfere  with 
our  enjoyment;  indeed,  she  was  the  life 
and  soul  of  our  family  circle.     But  now, 
O  how  greatly  changed !     Our  home  was 
then  a  scene  of  quiet,  cheerful  happiness, 
but  now  there  are  no  plans  for  mental  im- 
provement, no  instructive  reading,  no  de- 
lightful conversations ;  but  substituted  for 
these,  we  are  compelled  to  witness  the  in- 
tense suffering,  and  many  times  to  hear  the 
sighs  and  groans  of  the  person  we  love  best. 
Ah,  dear  E.,  it  is  sad  indeed ;  and  I  often 
think  that  I  was  not  half  aware  how  hapi)y 
we  were  before  mamma's  illness ;  but  now 
I  know  by  sad  contrast !     How  willingly, 
were  I  possessed  of  all  this  world's  wealth' 
would  I  give  it,  could  mamma  be  restored 
to  her  former  state  of  health!     Could  we 
indulge  a  Iiope  as  to  lier  ultimate  recoverv, 
this  would  sustain  us;  but  we  fear  there  Is 
very  little  prospect  of  this." 

Margaret  carefully  concealed  her  feel- 
ings  from  her  mother,  and  endeavored  to 
appear  as  cheerful  as  possible  in  her  pres- 


H., 


48 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


ence.     She  spoke  lightly  of  the  sacrifice 
she  was  obliged  to  make  of  her  opportuni- 
ties for  improvement.     When  her  mother 
would  lament  the  interruption  to  her  stud- 
ies, and  that  lier  time  was  thus,  as  it  were, 
being  lost,  she  would  answer  with  a  smile, 
"  O,  do  not  say  lost,  mamma ;  I  am  learn- 
ing to  7mirsey     Indefatigable  was  she  in 
her  attentions  to  her  afflicted  parent,  and 
never  did  she,  by  word  or  look,  intimate 
aught  but  the  deepest  sympathy  and  affec- 
tion.    One  more  willing,  indeed,  could  not 
be  found  to  perform  all  within  the  com- 
pass of  her  power,  both  on  this  and  every 
other  occasion,  in  which  there  was  neces- 
sity for  extra  exertion. 

At  length,  Mrs.  Des  Brisay's  disease, 
which  had  at  first  been  acute  and  agoniz- 
ing, assumed  a  milder  form,  and  settled 
into  a  chronic  aflection,  attended,  however, 
by  not  unfrequent  paroxysms  of  suffering. 
Owing  to  these  mitigating  circumstances, 
Margaret,  after  about  a  year's  intermission, 
was,  in  some  measure,  relieved  from  her 
strict  confinement  in  the  sick  chamber, 
and  enabled,  in  a  degree,  to  resume  her 


i 


I 

I 


TRYING   SCENES. 


49 


various  pursui(;s;  but  no  period  was  there, 
during  her  mother's  ilhiess,  in  which, 
when  present  and  in  health,  she  did  not 
spend  a  great  part  of  her  time,  and  fully 
share  with  others  in  the  duty  of  waiting 
upon  the  invalid. 

For  a  year  or  two  previously  to  this 
period,  Margaret  had  acted  as  her  mother's 
amanuensis,  and  upon  her  had  devolved 
the  labor  of  keeping  up  a  correspondence 
with  absent  relativ^es  and  friends.     This  to 
her  was  a  pleasing  recreation.     She  had 
'Hhe  pen  of  a  ready  writer,"  and  she  re- 
quired but  to  place  that  pen  upon  paper, 
and  thoughts  and  words  flowed  forth  with 
ease  and  rapidity.     Never  stopping  until 
her  letter  was  completed,  or  her  sheet  fill- 
ed, she  seemed  to  know  nothing  by  ex- 
perience of  the  disagreeable  circumstance 
of  being  brought  to  a  stand  by  the  in- 
ward  inquiry,  "  What  shall  I  write  next?" 
Her  mother  would  say,  "Margaret,  I  wish 
a   letter  written   to  such  a  person,  and 
such  and  such  things  mentioned."     This 
was  all  that  was  necessary  to  be  said  or 
done.     At   the   proper   time,    the   letter 


50 


MxVKCiAKET    ELIZABETH. 


would  be  fortlicoining,  and  would  be  found 
to  contain  all  that  was  required,  expressed 
in  appropriate,  and  often  felicitous  lan- 
guage. Her  usefulness  in  this  way  cannot 
be  estimated.  The  perusal  of  Margaret's 
letters  wculd  cast  a  clearer  light  on  her 
character,  and  give  a  more  correct  view 
of  it  than  anything  that  could  be  written 
on  the  subject;  but  they  are,  with  a  few  ex- 
ceptions, of  so  strictly  private  a  nature  as 
renders  them  unsuitable  for  publication.^ 

During  the  winter  of  1851,  favoring  cir- 
cumstances allowed  Margaret  more  leisure 
than  usual  for  improvement,  and  several 
hours  each  day  was  she  spared,  in  which 
she  devoted  herself  to  some  favorite  pur- 
suits.   Perhaps  she  became  unduly  engross- 
ed in  her  occupations,  or  permitted  her 
mind  to  be  too  much  taken  up  with  youth- 
ful associations.     We  know  there  is  a  ten- 
dency in  human  nature  to  pursue  immod- 
erately, what  is  innocent  and  even  lauda- 
ble, and  to  allow  objects  and  individuals, 
excellent  in  themselves,  to  draw  the  heart 
away  from  what  is  spiritual  and  divine. 
Certain  it  is,  that  her  religious  enjoyment 


I 


TRYING   SCENES. 


51 


I 


was,  during  these  months,  at  a  lower  ebb 
than  luid  ever  been  tlie  case  since  her  con- 
version.    Though  she  had  not  "  wickedly 
departed  from  God,"  it  was  evident  that 
lier  delight  in  him,  and  in  his  ways,  was 
lessened.     Intervening  objects  had  come 
between  her  and  her  Saviour,  and    now 
prevented  her  rejoicing  under  "the  sweet 
shining  of  his  face."   ^So  decided  and  so 
joyous  had  been  her  former  experience, 
that  the  change  in  her  feelings   was  the 
more  easily  observed,  and  could  not  but 
be  regarded  by  her  friends  with  mingled 
emotions  of  sorrow  and  anxiety.     But  this 
state  of  things  was  not  permitted  to  con- 
tinue long.     In  the  month  of  April  a  pro- 
tracted meeting  was  held  in  Sackville,  by 
the  resident  minister  there,  which  resulted 
in  a  revival  of  religion.     Many  were  con- 
verted to  God,  and  Inany  members  of  the 
Church  aroused  to  renewed  diligence  in  tlie 
divine  life.     Among  the  latter  was  Marga- 
ret.    Deeply  feeling  the  necessity,  in  her 
own  case,  of  the  quickeninginfluences  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  she  presented  herself  public- 
ly, with  a  number  of  her  joim^  compan- 


I    9 


52 


MAKUARET   ELIZABETH. 


'*. 


II 


<ij 


ions,  for  the  prayei-s  of  God's  people.    :N  or 
did  she  thus  wait  upon  him  in  vain.    She 
was  restored,  abundantly  restored,  to  all  that 
she  had  formerly  enjoyed ;  and  the  bless- 
ing   thus    regained   was    faithfully   pre- 
served during  the  remainder  of  her  lite. 
Several  of  her  youthful  friends,  to  whom 
she  was  fondly  nttached,  were  also,  at  tins 
time,  made  happy  in  religion,  and  they 
were  now  a  loving  little  band,  united  by 
the  most  endearing  of  all  ties,  those  of 
Christian  friendship.      They  now  proved 
great  assistances  to  each  other  in  the  path 
of  piety,  taking  "sweet  counsel  together, 
and  walking  "unto  the  house  of  God  in 
company."     Margaret  ever  looked  back 
upon  those  days,  spent  thus  together,  with 
tender  recollections,   and    regarded  that 
peculiar  period  as  a  sunny  spot  in  lites 
dark  pilgrimage  ;  and  thus  she  expressed 
herself  but  a  few  days  before  her  death. 
From  some  of  these  beloved  associates  she 
was  soon,  in  the  progress  of  events,  called  to 
part,  to  meet  no  more  on  earth ;  but  her 
feelings  toward  them,  of  cherished  affec- 
i  •  _-    --nv  v'-T'"^*^-'^^  ■i'lTf^    RfliYin.  and  with 


4 


TRVINU   SCENES. 


53 


She 
that 
less- 
pre- 
life. 
horn 
this 
they 
dby 

3    of 


I 


oved 
path 
her," 
)d  in 
back 
with 
that 
life's 
'essed 
ieath. 
es  she 
lied  to 
it  her 
affec- 
L  with 


I 


i 


several  of  tliem  she  riiaintaincd  a  corre- 
spondence until  her  last  illness.     She  had, 
indeed,  a  heart  peculiarly  fitted  for  friend- 
shij).^    Possessing  an  eminenlly  social  dis- 
position, warm  and  generous  sensibilities, 
and  a  lively  appreciation  of  excellence  in 
character,  her  attachments  were  alike  ar- 
dent and  durable.     The  disinterestedness 
and  unselfishness  of  her  regard  were  not 
less  remarkable.     Unlike  some  who  can- 
not  behold,  with    unalloyed  satisftiction, 
superior  talents,  accomjdishments,  or  per- 
sonal attractions,  even  in  their  most  intimate 
friends,  Margaret  was  incai)able  of  feeling 
any  other  emotion  than  that  of  pleasure, 
when  those  she  loved  were  the  objects  of 
admiration,  even  though  she  herself  were 
cast  into  the  shade. 

Her  school-days  might  now  be  said  to 
be  over,  as  after  this  period  she  never 
received  lessons  from  any  regular  teacher. 
It  is  true  that  both  her  friends  and  herself 
were  looking  forward  to  the  time  when  the 
female  academy  in  Sackville  should  go 
into  operation,  with  the  expectation  that  she 
would  then  be  able  to  enter  it  as  a  pupil 

4  ' 


m 


64 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


and  more  fully  finish  lier  education.  Alas ! 
the  realization  of  this  hope  was  prevented 
by  her  illness  and  early  death.  How  con- 
soling, however,  is  the  consideration,  that 
in  that  bright  world  of  glory,  of  which  she  is 
now  an  inhabitant,  her  desire  for  knowledge 
is  being  satiated  at  its  fountain  head  ;  that 
her  powers,  expanded  in  a  manner,  and  to 
a  degree,  incomprehensible  to  us  in  our 
present  state,  are  occupied  with  the  study 
of  loftier  subjects,  noble-  themes,  than 
this  earth  can  offer,  or  ti.an  "  hath  enter- 
ed into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive  !" 

During  the  last  few  years  of  Margaret's 
life,  as  childhood  ripened  into  womanhood, 
and  as  her  duties  became  more  numerous 
and  important,  she  evinced  a  correspond- 
ing conscientiousness  and  fidelity  in  their 
performance.  Fondly  attached  to  her 
own  home,  she  made  it  the  center  of  all 
her  hopes  and  joys.  lier  inclination,  as 
well  as  her  principles,  led  her  to  seek  her 
happiness  there,  and  to  endeavor,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  contribute  to  the  general  com- 
fort of  her  household.  Cheerfully  did  she 
take  her  part  in  domestic  labor  and  cares. 


TRYING   SCENES. 


55 


yas! 
snted 
rcon- 
,  that 
she  is 
ledge 
;  that 
ind  to 
ti  our 
study 

than 
[?nter- 
i!" 

aret's 
hood, 
lerous 
pond- 

their 
>  her 
of  all 
DU,  as 
^k  her 
far  as 
.  corn- 
id  she 
cares, 


and  ever  desirous  was  she  to  accomplish 
all  within  her  power  in  this  respect.     At- 
tention to  her  mother,  however,  claimed 
the  largest  share  of  her  time  and  efforts. 
A  chief  part  of  every  day  M^as  necessarily 
passed  in  iittendance  upon  her,  ministerino- 
to  her  wants,  and  performing  each  kind 
office  of  love  and  filial  duty.     To  enliven 
the  tedium  of  her  monotonous  circumstan- 
ces, she  was  fruitful  in  inventions,  and  was 
always    contriving  some  little  agreeable 
surprise.     She  was  also  in  the  daily  habit 
of  reading  aloud  to  her  mother  for  hours 
together.     Occupied  in  these  various  em- 
ployments, her  life  had,  indeed,  become  a 
bu«y   one.     She   learned    to   value  time, 
since  so  little  of  it  was  at  her  own  com- 
mand.     Though  her  desire  for  improve- 
ment continued  as  ardent  as  ever,  yet  the 
moments  that  she  could  snatch  for  that 
purpose  were  ''  few  and  far  between."    In 
her   attempts    at   composition,   also,   she 
labored  under  great  disadvantages,  writing 
generally  in  great  haste,  frequently  in  the 
midst  of  her  family,  and  always  with  little 
opportunity  or  leisure  for  correction.    To 


Ik 


1* 

I 


■■• 


'» 


fl 


HD 


i 


I    '^ 


l^i 


#f  MAKGAEET   KLIZABETil. 

her  friends  it  has  ever  been  a  matter  of 
astonishment,  that  she  was  not  perfectly 
discouraged  by  the  obstacles  in  her  way, 
and  prevented  from  making  any  efforts  of 
this  kind.  But  the  secret  of  her  perse- 
verance was,  that  her  burning  thoughts 
and  emotions,  too  big  to  be  restrained 
within  her  own  breast,  7nust  pour  them- 
selves forth  in  language,  and  thus  relievo 
her  burdened  spirit.  JSTever  sitting  down 
for  the  express  purpose  of  composing,  it 
was  the  ideas  that  came  rushing  unbidden 
into  her  mind  that  were  penned  down, 
and  these  just  in  the  order,  and  in  the 
words  in  which  they  first  presented  them- 
selves. Thus  it  did  not  seem  optional 
with  her  whether  to  write  or  not ;  a  neces- 
sity seemed  laid  upon  her  in  this  way,  to 
give  vent  to  the  powerful  sentiments  with- 
in. Often  would  she  be  observed  with  her 
lips  slightly  moving,  while  going  about 
attending  to  her  accustomed  duties  ;  then, 
on  the  first  moments  of  leisure,  she  would 
disappear,  and  on  her  return,  one  of  her 
productions  would  be  forthcoming.  Per- 
haps it  should  be  mentioned,  however,  that 


TRYING  SCENES. 


tter  of 
rfectly 

brts  of 
perse- 
oughts 
rained 
them- 
relievo 

down 
ing,  it 
bidden 
down, 
in  the 
them- 
)tional 
neces- 
^ay,  to 
1  with- 
th  her 
about 
;  then, 
would 
of  her 

Per- 
r,  that 


57 


it  was  generally  on  some  interesting  oc- 
casion, or  after  having  listened  to  the 
relation  of  some  striking  incident,  that  she 
seemed  operated  upon  in  this  manner. 


i 


58 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


Ill 


CHAPTER  IV, 


LEAVING   HOME. 


In  the  summer  of  1853,  Margaret  received 
an  invitation  from  lier  uncle,  Dr.  McLeod, 
then  residing  in  Halifax,  ISTova  Scolia,  to 
spend  the  ensuing  winter  in  his  family. 
Duly  appreciating  the  kindness  which 
prompted  such  a  proposal,  to  have  accepted 
it  would  have  aftbrded  her  unalloyed 
pleasure,  had  not  an  obstacle  to  such  a 
step  presented  itself  in  the  state  of  her 
mother's  health.  This,  in  her  opinion, 
was  of  so  formidable  a  nature  as  to  be  in- 
surmountable, and  not  till  the  matter  was 
brought  before  her  by  her  family,  did  she 
seriously  contemplate  it  for  a  moment.  To 
them  it  appeared  highly  desirable  that  she 
should  be  relieved  for  a  season  from  her 
arduous  duties,  and  should  avail  herself 
of  the  opportunities  for  improvement 
which  a  sojourn  of  a  few  months  among 
her  kind  friends  offered.     Her  reluctance, 


i  i 


IfL" 


n 


LEAVING   HOME. 


59 


ceived 
cLeod, 
)tia,  to 
family. 

which 
cepted 
illoyed 
5uch  a 
of  her 
pinion, 

be  in- 
er  was 
lid  she 
It.  To 
bat  she 
)in  her 
lerself 
^ement 

anion  2C 
stance, 


m 


however,  to  leave  her  mother  was  great. 
When  first  consulted  on  the  subject,  she 
burst  into  tears,  exclaiming,  "  O,  mamma, 
do  not  send  me  from  you ;  I  cannot  bear 
the  thought;  I  am  sure  something  will 
happen  to  you  in  my  absence,  and  then  I 
should  never  forgive  myself."  But  though 
these  were  her  feelings,  yet,  to  the  wishes 
of  her  parents,  now  as  ever,  she  was  as  the 
yielding  wax.  When,  therefore,  she  saw 
that  they  were  really  anxious  that  she 
should  pay  the  proposed  visit,  judging  it 
for  her  advantage  in  different  respects  so 
to  do,  she  no  longer  offered  any  opposition, 
but  acquiesced  in  their  will.  In  the  fol- 
lowing extracts  from  a  letter  written  at 
this  time  she  alludes  to  the  subject: 

"TO   MRS.  MACLEOD. 

August  18th,  1853. 

"  My  own  Dear  Aunt,— I  cannot  tell 
you  how  welcome  and  precious  were  the 
little  note  and  remembrancers  from  you, 
which  reached  me  last  night.  Yery  dearly 
shall  I  always  prize  them,  and  most  cor- 
dially  do  I  thank  you  for  them ;  for  I  had 


60 


MAEGARET   ELIZABiriir. 


I 


.  i" 


ii 


hi 


I* 


scarcely  dared  to  Lope  that  you  would  find 
a  vacancy  in  your  affections  and  sympa- 
thies for  one  so  insignificant,  and  so  en- 
tirely a  stranger.  And  yet  surely  we  are 
not  strangers  now;  we  are  linked  by  ties 
sacred  and  enduring;  and  I  cannot  but 
reiterate  the  hope  to  which  you  have  so 
kindly  given  expression,  that  we  may 
meet,  ere  very  long,  'face  to  face.' 

"  Very  delightfully  comes  the  thought, 
that  I  may  claim  a  place,  however  small, 
in  your  heart  and  memory ;  for  never  had 
I  dreamed,  while  pourin^^  forth  the  undis- 
ciplined fancies  of  a  stray  moment,  that 
aught  of  mine  could  win  an  echo  in  a  land 
so  distant. 

"  I  would  indeed  that  I  could  have  been 
with  you  in  your  journeyings.  I  have 
always  fancied  that  one  glance  at  Niagara 
would  bring  with  it  its  own  enchantment, 
and  weave  a  spell  over  the  heart  which 
might  hardly  be  broken.  There  must  be 
a  grandeur,  a  mysterious  solemnity,  in  the 
sound  of  that  strange  minstrelsy  which  has 
rung  there  for  ages  gone;  and  the  memory 
of  the  pale  dead,  who  have  passed  into 


i 


1^ 


i.5;aving  home. 


61 


K 


eternity  by  so  wild  and  fearful  a  gate 
M'ould  shroud  the  scene  with  a  peculiarly 
mournful  interest.     Your  visit  to  Buffafo 
would,  I  can  imagine,  prove  very  interest- 
ing to  you,  as  the  renewal  of  cherished  in- 
tercourse with  a  beloved  friend,  whose 
exhaustless  flow  of  chastened  mirthfulness 
has  won  for  her  a  name,  even  among  the 
dwellers  in  Sackville. 

"The  thought  of  a  visit  to  you  and  my 
ever-kind  uncle  is  very,  very  bright ;  too 
bnght  to  cherish,  except  in  the  far  dis- 
tance    Duty  should  ever,  I  know,  take 
precedence  of  pleasure,  and  I  could  not 
even  for  the  joy  of  greeting  those  wlio  are 
so  dear,  resign  the  privilege  of  minister- 
ing to  a  suffering  mother.     So  thought  I 
as  first  your  kindly  message  met  my  eye ' 
but  mamma  appreciates  so  truly  the  ad- 
vantagesof  a  temporary  sojourn  in  Halifax, 
that  she  begs  you  will  allow  her  to  defer 
a  decisive  answer  till  next  week,  when  we 

Will  probably  communicate  with on  the 

subject.  I  cannot  but  picture  your  house- 
hold group  to  myself,  and  then  comes  the 
longing  wish  to  take  one  glance  in  upon  you 


y 


isA 
a 


lii 


,if  • 


62 


MARGAKET   ELIZABETH. 


*  ^'  *  #  ^ 

"My  mamma,  who,  as  you  may  Lave 
heard,  is  yet  the  '  prisoner  of  the  Lord,' 
wishes  me  to  assure  you  of  a  warm  place 
in  her  heart,  and  to  say  you  are  to  her, 
even  now,  as  an  own  beloved  sister.  She 
delights  to  trace  the  Providence  which  has 
transplanted  you  from  your  Southern  home 
to  the  shores  of  Nova  Scotia,  and  made 
you  the  nucleus  round  which  centers  so 
many  hopes." 

^  #  *  4f  4f 

It  is  to  be  lamented  that  we  have  no  rec- 
ord remaining  of  Margaret's  religious  feel- 
ings, traced  by  her  own  hand.  It  is  true, 
she  commenced  keeping  a  diary  when  but 
about  the  age  of  eight,  and  continued  it 
through  many  years ;  but  we  regret  to  say, 
that  when  leaving  home  at  this  period,  she 
committed  it,  with  a  number  of  other  pri- 
vate papers,  to  the  flames.  The  state  of 
her  mind,  however,  is  known  from  other 
sources.  The  following:  extracts  are  from 
a  journal,  undertaken  by  her,  for  the  infor- 
mation of  her  fiimily,  with  respect  to  her 
movements  during  her  absence. 


4f 

may  Lave 
the  Lord,' 
^arm  place 
are  to  her, 
ster.  She 
which  has 
hern  home 
and  made 
centers  so 


4f 

ive  no  rec- 
igious  feel- 
It  is  true, 
'  when  but 
ntinued  it 
jret  to  saj, 
period,  she 
other  pri- 
le  state  of 
rom  other 
3  are  from 
'  the  infor- 
►ect  to  her 


LEAVING   HOME. 


65 


I 


1' 


On  October  20,  Margaret  left  her  fath  r's 
house  for  Halifax.  Being  then  in  the  en- 
joyment of  perfect  health,  little  m..  it 
foreseen  under  what  circumstances  she 
would  return  to  it. 

"Friday,  Octdber  21.— At  Parrsborough 
Eose  this  morning  at  five  o'clock,  dressed 
hastily,  swallowed   some   breakfast,  and, 
alter  bidding  Mi-s.  L.,  my  hostess,  adieu, 
set  off  with  papa  to  go  down  to  the  land- 
ing.    On    arriving   there,    found    every- 
body asleep,  and  no  signs  of  the  vessel 
going.     The  drive  down  was  --i-lio-htful 
although  pretty  cold ;  the  moon  and  stars 
shone  most  brilliantly,  and  the  high,  dark 
Jnlls  around  us,  were  mantled  with  their 
radiance.     As  soon  as  it  was  light,  papa 
and  I  set  forth  for  a  walk  round  the  vil- 
age.     The  country  is  hilly  and  romantic, 
but  the  village  itself  has  an  ancient  and 
deserted  air,  calculated  to  make  one  feel 
rather  somber,  and  disposed  to  moralize  in 
gazing  upon  it.     Had  a  delightful  walk  on 
the  beach.    About  eight  o'clock,  signs  of 
lite  and  motion-  were  seen  about  the  ves- 
sel, and  presently  the  call  came  for  passen- 


tI'*'    •« 


mm. 


MAKOARET  ELIZABETH. 


p«, 


gers.  A  boat  came  ashore  for  them,  and 
I  was  handed  in.  Bid  papa  good-by,  and 
pulled  down  my  vail  to  hide  the  blinding 
tears  which  would  come.  Sat  and  watch- 
ed papa  standing  on  the  wharf,  as  we  rap- 
idly retreated  from  him.  Felt  rather 
melancholy,  as  his  form  slowly  faded  in 
the  distance.  The  boat  soon  reached  the 
vessel's  side,  and  I  hastened  to  the  cabin, 
as  soon  as  I  got  on  board,  to  indulge  in  the 
genuine  luxury  of  tears.  In  this  design  I 
was  fortunately  arrested  by  the  descent 
of  an  old  lady,  who,  I  soon  found,  was  my 
only  female  fellow-passenger.  She  some- 
what won  me  from  my  sadness,  by  chatting 
very  pleasantly,  and  I  soon  ensconced  my- 
self by  her  side  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage. 
The  day  was  delightful ;  sea  as  smooth  as 
glass,  and  the  gentlemen  were  wishing  for 
a  breeze,  and  prognosticated  a  long  pas- 
sage. Twice  a  gentle  breeze  sprung  up, 
and  wafted  us  along  in  fine  style.  About 
twelve  o'clock  I  was  sitting,  gazing  list- 
lessly at  the  distant  horizon,  and  thinking 
it  was    the   haven  for   which   we   were 

"hmmrl     ixrlipn    T    nvprhpnrrl     soTYift    T^erson 


i 


fc_/  v-  v  » *  \  *-* 


LEAVING    IIOMIJ. 


67 


and 
and 


pas- 


^  list- 
ikinff 


asking  tlio  captain  how  far  we  were  from 
Ilorton.     "Two  miles,"  was  the  answer. 
Turning  my  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the 
speaker,  I  discovered,  to  my  utter  astonish- 
ment, the  Ilorton  shore  directly  before  me, 
in  all  its  far-famed  beauty.     Eagerly  did 
I  scan  every  outline  of  the  smiling  coast 
of  which  I  had  heard  such  glowing  tales 
It  was,  mdeed,  bright  and  beautiful,  and 
soon  the  cottages  and  groves  of  Lower 
Ilorton  came  in  view.     As  we  neared  the 
wharf,  I  felt  most  painfully  that  I  was  in- 
deed, for  the  first  time,  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  place.     Surveyed  every  inch  of  the 
wharf  before  me,  in  hopes  of  seeing  a 
tnendly  visage  of  some  kind.     Looked 
anxiously  for  Mr. .     No  person,  how- 
ever, answering  to  his  description,  was  to 
be  discovered,  and  I  began  to  have  some 
sinkings   of  heart  about   my   prospects, 
d  ust  then,  raising  my  eyes,  I  saw  a  respect- 
able-looking gentleman  seated  alone  in  a 
carriage  on  the  wharf.    This  proved  to  be 

^'■- '  ^^lio  received  me  most  kindly 

and  cordially;  and  now,  behold  me  perch- 

arl     111^      ^1-^ • -1  n     -»  t-  \ 

-,  whirling 


ed     im     Rlonrrairlo 


68 


IVIARGAKET   ELIZABETH. 


through  the  streets  of  Horton.     Arrived  at 
his  house  about  two  P.  M.,  and  saw  Miss 

and  other  members  of  the  family. 

Met  with  the  greatest  kindness  and  hospi- 
tality.    Sat  down  and  took  some  dinner, 
after  which  a  walk  was  discussed.     While 
meditating  such  an  excursion,  some  friends 
called,  and  kindly  volunteered  a  drive  for 
me  to  Wolfville.     After  a  few  moments' 
delay  we  set  off.     Wolfville  is  very  pretty, 
and  Acadia  College  is  a  handsome  build- 
ing, embosomed  in  trees  and  shrubbery. 
Had  a  long  talk  about  home  and  Sackville 
friends,  and  was  besieged  on  my  part  to 
delay  my  journey  to  Halifax  till  Monday, 
which  would  give  me  the  pleasure  of  an- 
other drive  to-morrow  (Saturday)  to  some 
other   of   the   neighboring    localities,   so 
famed  for  their  beauties,  and  also  secure 
me  the  advantage  of  the  protection,  on  my 

journey,  of  Mr, ,  who  goes  to  Halifax 

on  Monday.  Partly  promised  to  do  so. 
Went  also  to  Gaspereaux  Kiver,  a  most 
beautiful  little  stream,  meandering  through 
upland  meadows.  Came  home  about  five. 
Before  tea,  sat  in  the  twilight,  and  dis- 


I 


wfc 


LEAVING   HOME. 


69 


Lved  at 
^  Miss 
^amily. 

hospi- 
iinner. 
While 
friends 
ive  for 
>nients' 
pretty, 

build- 
ibbery. 
Lckville 
part  to 
[onday, 
\  of  an- 
"0  some 
ties,  so 
i  secure 
,  on  my 
Halifax 
I  do  so. 
a  most 
through 
3ut  five, 
uid  dis- 


cussed '  Flora  ISTeale's'  writings  and  per- 
sonality, and  the  philosophy  of  spirit-rap- 
pings. After  tea  resumed  the  subject  of 
spirit-rappings,  and  finally  relinquished  it 
for  some  music  and  chat  aroui  1  the  piano. 
Promised  to  write  a  note  to  Halifax  post- 
poning  my  visit  till  Monday. 

"Saturday,    22.— i^bout    eleven    this 
morning,  the  clouds,  which  had  threaten- 
ed  rain,  began  to  disperse,  and  the  sun 
shone  out  brightly.     After  taking  some 
lunch,  set  oS  on   our    drive.     Drove  to 
Hantsport,    made    a     call    there,    went 
i         through  a  new  Baptist  church,  which  is 
very  neat  and   pretty,  and   after  dinner 
I         drove    to    Hardscrabble,    Bagtown,    and 
j         Wen  Anna.     Hantsport  is  a  pretty  little 
place,  and  some  parts  of  the  road  thither 
I         are  picturesque  and  the  views  fine.     But 
i         O !  the  view  from  Hardscrabble  is  beyond 
description.     AH  Lower  Horton  and' part 
of  Cornwallis    burst  upon   you,   and    in 
the  distant  horizon.  Cape  Blomidon,  near 
which  Mr.  Very  and  Professor  Chipman 
tound  an  ocean  grave,   is  just  discern- 
ible.    The  whole   is  like  a  magnificent 


migfv 

1    f 

If 

1^^ 

11 

■1^' 

1 

11  ^' 

1 

Hh^b  1 

1' 

Hi 

1 

1 

1 

1  ^ 

n| 

B  i 

P'*     "" 

|i    '; 

;"        ; 

j 

i^. 

t 

• 

■  ■;- 

'" 

Hi 

f 

3               1 

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3 

.1     '  1 

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70 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


panorama,  and  we  sat  and  gazed  for  some 
minutes,  almost  breathless.  Had  a  long 
and  very  interesting  conversation  on  dif- 
ferent subjects,  among  the  rest.  Dr. 's 

preaching.  Eeturned  home  at  last  about 
half-past  five  P.  M.,  rather  tired,  having 
been  driven  twenty-five  miles.  After  tea 
had  the  pleasure  of  looking  over  a  volume 
of  the  National  Magazine,  and  Strong's 
Harniony  of  the  Gospels,  and  finally  re- 
linquished them  for  some  conversation. 

^  "  Sdbhath^  23. — To-day  it  has  been  most 
dismal,  as  far  as  the  weather  could  make 
it  so.     Went  to  the  Episcopal  Church  in 

Wolfville,  accompanied  by  Miss and 

^ •    The  latter  and  I  chatted  together 

all  the  way,  going  and  returning.  She  is 
a  sweet,  interesting  girl,  and  the  misfor- 
tune under  which  she  labors  seems  to 
throw  around  her  a  charm,  rather  than 
otherwise.  She  is  very  lovable,  and 
withal  most  intelhgent.  I  am  sure  I  shall 
always  remember  her  with  pleasure  and' 
£-ifection.  Stayed  at  home  the  rest  of  the 
day,  and  read  'Summerfield's  Life,'  a  very 
interesting  book.     Rained  hard  all  day.  ' 


LEAVING  HOME. 


71 


f  some 
I  long 
)n  dif- 

's 

about 
laving 
er  tea 
olume 
rong's 
\y  re- 
3n. 

.  most 
make 
•cli  in 
-  and 
;etlier 
5lie  is 
lisfor- 
is   to 
than 
and 
shall 
!  and 
f  the 
very 


I 


"  Monday,  24.~i  am  at  last  in  Halifax. 
Rose  this  morning  early,  on  the  qtd  mm 
about  my  anticipated  journey.      About 
half  past  eight  the  coach  came  in  sight 
and  I  once  more  felt  that  I  was  to  be 
thrown  among  strange  scenes.     However 
made  my  parting  salutations  to  the  friends 
that  were  with  me,  and  mounted,  not  the 
rostrum,  but  the  stage-coach,  looking  as 
heroic  as  possible.     Was  gladdened  with 
the  sight  of  A.'8  handwriting  on  a  news- 
paper, handed  to  me  through  the  window 
by  a  friend.     After  some  delay,  the  word 
was  given,  and  I  wac  whirled  away,  amid 
the  kindly  greetings  and  adieus  of  those 
I  left.     Horton  will   always   be  fraught 
with  pleasant  memories  for  me.    It  has 
some  of  the  loveliest  scenery  I  have  ever 
seen,  and  among  my  friends  there,  I  met 
with  most  true  and  warm-hearted  kind- 
ness.    Felt  somewhat  sobered  down,  as 
the  coach  rattled  along,  bearing  me  from 
tlie  place.     After  a  iew  miles  had  been 
passed,  began  to  feel  very  giddy  and  sick, 
m  consequence  of  sitting  with  my  back 
to  the  horses.    "^---^  ■    ■>  ■      ■ 


:    '-;■ 


■  5-1 


ied  to  keep  quiet  till 


we 


V. 


wt' 


I 


i 


i 


72 


MAKGAKET   ELIZABETH. 


got  to  Windsor,  but  carried  this  resolution 
rather  far,  and  just  as  I  was  on  the  point  of 
fainting,  a  lady  opposite  saw  my  appear- 
ance, and  spoke,  ard  Mr. changed 

seats  with  me.  After  some  time  the  fresh 
air  revived  me.  This  move  introduced 
me  to  a  lady,  who  proved  to  be  rather  an 
amusing  acquaintance.  There  are  some 
pretty  views  on  the  road  to  Halifax,  par- 
ticularly about  Windsor,  of  which  I  caught 
glimpses  through  the  windows ;  but,  on  the 
whole,  the  drive  w^as  very  fatiguing,  and 
I  was  glad,  heartily  glad,  vv^hen  the  gas- 
lights of  Halifax  were  seen  through  tlie 
darkness.  Reached  this  city  about  eight 
P.  M.,  and  after  some  delay  was  met  by 
A.  and  A.,  who  showed  the  way  to  their 
father's  door.  Was  received  at  the  en- 
trance by  uncle,  and  several  other  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  but  found,  to  my  deep 
r(  gret,  that  my  aunt  was  very  ill. 

"Saturday,  Oct  29. — My  first  week  in 
Halifax  has  passed  quietly,  but  very  pleas- 
antly, with  the  exception  of  the  gloom 
thrown  over  us  all  by  my  aunt's  illness. 
She  is  yet  ill,  but  Dr.  thinks  her 


i 


4 


LEAVING    HOMK. 


73 


i 


improving  on  the  whole.  Went  with  E. 
on  Thursday,  to  take  my  first  walk  in 
Halifax.  I  scarcely  know  what  idea  to 
form  of  the  city.  From  some  points  of 
view,  it  looks  really  beautiful,  but  when 
you  approach  nearer,  it  has  almost  an 
ancient  air,  and  the  houses  seem  dingy, 
and  many  of  them  far  from  being  hand- 
some externally.  This  appearance  is  very 
striking  to  a  person  coming,  as  I  do,  from 
a  country  village,  where  everything  is 
new  and  fresh. 

"Sahiath,  30.— It  has  been  very  fine 
weather  on  this  my  first  Sabbath  in  H., 
and  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  attend- 
ing church  twice,  which  is  somewhat 
unusual.  The  text  this  morning  was  from 
Zechariah  iii,  2:  ^s  not  this  a  brand 
plucked  out  of  the  fire  V  I  enjoyed  the 
service  very  much. 

'^November  15.— Kose  this  morning,  and 
found  the  sun  shining,  and  everything 
giving  promise  of  a  pleasant  day,  after 
yesterday's  storm.  About  ten  o'clock, 
suddenly  took  the  fancy  to  accept  an  in- 
vitation to  spend  the  day  in  Dartmouth. 


i  I 


f 


,::^ 


ii' 


»  'i 


f 

t 

I 


1 


iill 


I 


74 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


Accordingly  equipped  myself,  and  set  off 
on  my  way  to  the  market  wharf,  accom- 
panied by  Cousin  A .    The  day  was 

most  delicious,  almost  like  summer,  and 
the  trip  across  the  harbor  was  really  de- 
lightful. Almost  as  soon  as  we  landed, 
left  for  a  drive  in  the  environs.  Some  of 
the  views  around  are  very  pretty,  and  the 
view  from  some  of  the  hills  of  Dartmouth 
itself,  and  also  of  the  city  and  harbor,  is 
extremely  fine. 

"Sabhath,  JVov.  27.— Heard  a  sermon 
to-day  from  Psalm  Ixxvii,  13 :  '  Thy  way, 
O  God,  is  in  the  sanctuary:'  very  de- 
lightful and  impressive. 

"  Noveinber  29. — ^This  morning  finished 
a  •  Leaf  from  Life,'  which  I  commenced 
last  night.  Finislied  it,  but  not  to  my 
satisfaction.  It  wants  power,  vividness, 
and  life,  and  has  numberless  faults  of 
style  and  expression.  I  do  not  know 
what  mamma  will  think  of  it. 

"Received  a  letter  from this  even- 
ing ;  a  very  kind,  affectionate  one,  which 
cheered  my  spirits  considerably.  She 
says  her  father  received  lately  a  letter 


4 


LEAVINr    HOME. 


75 


from  papa.  If  there  is  anything  which 
comes  to  the  weary,  home-sick  heart  like 
'cold  water  to  a  thirsty  soul,'  surely  it  is 
a  letter  from  a  friend ;  it  acts  like  a  charm 
to  revive  and  animate  the  flagging  spirits. 
Read  the  first  book  of  '  Jerusalem  Deliv- 
ered.' I  should  judge  it  very  fine,  and 
probably  the  interest  deepens  as  the  work 
proceeds. 

"  Wednesday. — I  have  longed  to-day 
for  home  as,  I  think,  I  have  never  done 
since  I  have  been  in  Halifax.  I  am  sure 
to-night,  that  one  glimpse  of  the  dear 
circle  I  have  left,  at  the  group  surround- 
ing the  sick  couch,  would  be  worth  more 
to  me  than  anything  else  earthly.  How 
often  do  these  words  come  to  me  in  this 
city  of  strangers ! 

*  Do  they  miss  me  at  home,  do  they  miss  me  ?'  &c. 

"  I  do  not  think  anybody  can  miss  me 
at  home,  unless  mamma  sometimes  misses 
the  sifirht  of  a  melancholy  face  from  her 
bedside,  and  possibly  papa  may  miss  some- 
body teazing  him  late  at  night,  when 
everybody  else  has  gore  to  bed.      With 


.1 

I 


If 


76 


MARGARP^r   ELIZABETH. 


these  trifling  exceptions,  I  flatter  myself, 
all  whirls  on  in  the  domestic  circle  as 
noiselessly  as  ever.  But  this  I  know,  I 
miss  them ;  I  cannot  so  easily  tear  myself 
away  from  them  as  they  can  from  me. 
However,  I  live  in  hopes  of  seeing  papa 
at  Christmas,  which  event,  I  fear,  will 
cause  such  a  violent  reaction  of  spirits, 
that  their  exhilaration  will  e:^ceecl  all 
bounds 

"  T/mrsday. — Attended,  this    evening, 
the  quarterly  love-feast,  in  Argyle-street 

Church.     Dr. and  Mr. were  in 

attendance.  A  good  influence  seemed  to 
pervade  the  assembly,  yet  I  did  not,  on 
the  whole,  enjoy  the  meeting  as  much  as 
some  I  have  attended  in  Sackville.  To- 
day is  the  first  of  another  month.  The 
weeks  glide  so  rapidly  away,  tliat  ere  long 
I  shall  look  forward  to  bidding  adieu  to 
the  circle  in  which  I  now  move,  and  re- 
uniting once  more  with  the  loving  band, 
around  whom  every  affection  of  my  heart  is 
intertwined.  The  thought  of  again  behold- 
ing the  faces  of  those  so  dear,  of  being  al- 
lowed to  view  the  pale  features  of  my 


4 


I 


LEAVING    HOME. 


77 


nir 


I 


mother,  lit  with  a  hope  and  cheerfulness 
not  of  this  earth,  and  to  twine  my  fingers 
in  the  dear  locks  so  softly  tinged  with 
silver,  clustering  around  my  father's  fore- 
head, fills  me  with  an  exhilaration  I  can- 
not express." 

Margaret  was,  at  this  time,  among  the 
most  affectionate  of  friends,  and  in  her 
letters  to  her  family  she  expresses  her  deep 
sense  of  the  kindness  shown  her.  "  Every- 
body is  so  kind  to  me,"  she  writes,  "  I 
cannot  tell  why  it  is  so."  Yet,  notwith- 
standing this,  we  see,  from  the  above  ex- 
tracts, how  her  heart  pined  for  home.  We 
cannot  w^onder  at  these  feelings,  when  we 
consider  her  mother's  circumstances,  and 
that  this  was  the  first  visit  of  any  length  in 
which  she  had  been  away  from  the  pa- 
rental roof. 

To  her  father  she  writes,  November  24 : 
"  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  write  a 
line,  just  to  tell  you  how  I  long  to  take 
one  glance  in  upon  you  this  afternoon.  It 
is  a  most  dreary  day,  the  first  snow  we 
liavo  had,  and.   as  in  fancy  I.  leave  the 


78 


MAIvaARET   ELIZABETH. 


shelter  of  my  present  habitation,  I  seem 
attracted,  in  opposite  directions,  toward 
Sackville  and  toward  Sydney."^  What 
would  I  not  give  for  a  visitor  from  each 
place!  I  am  looking  forward,  however, 
joyfully,  eagerly,  and  earnestly,  to  Christ- 
mas, for  a  glimpse  of  your  face.  You  will 
not  disappoint  me?  I  dare  not  think  of 
it  too  often  or  too  much,  for  sometimes, 
when  I  get  thinking  about  it,  my  heart 
yearns  so  for  a  sight  of  you,  that  it  seems 
as  if  it  were  impossible  for  me  to  live  and 
wait  till  Christmas." 

The  following  is  to  her  mother  at  Christ- 
mas: 

"  A  glad  and  happy  Christmas  to  you, 
my  dearest  mother,  is  the  greeting  I 
would  fain  whisper  in  your  ear  just  now. 
This,  however,  I  cannot  do,  and  instead,  I 
can  only  put  on  paper  my  fervent  wishes 
for  your  comfort  and  relief  from  suffering. 
How  can  I  tell  you  how  my  thoughts 
hav^e  been  hovering  to-day  around  you 
at  home,  and  dear  A in  his  island 

'-  Alluding  to  her  brother,  who  was  then  at  Sydney, 
C.  B, 


LEAVING  HOME. 


79 


dwelling?  My  thoughts,  and,  no  doubt, 
youi*s  also,  have  gone  back  to  this  day 
year,  when  we  were  all  together,  w^ith  the 

exception  of  A .     Probably  you  also 

remember  this  day  two  years,  when  he 
also  was  with  us.  It  seems  so  sad  that 
we  are  now  so  far  severed  from  each 
other.  May  we  meet  again  when  '  spring 
shall  revisit '  the  earth,  without  a  broken 
link  or  a  vacant  seat. 

"  I  have  been  very  busy  during  the 
past  week,  helping  to  prepare  for  Christ- 
mas. To-day  I  scarcely  realize  that  it  is 
here.  For  the  festivities  of  to-morrow, 
everybody  and  everything  have  been  put  in 
requisition.  All  the  presents  are  to  be  put 
on  the  breakfast-plates  to-morrow  morning, 
and  in  the  number,  papa  has  not  been  for- 
gotten. Need  I  tell  you  how  delightful  it 
is  to  have  him  here  with  us  at  this  time  ? 
His  presence  has  been  the  purest  comfort  I 
can  think  of ;  the  only  alloy  is  that  you  are 
not  with  him.  In  the  midst  of  the  confusion 
and  bustle,  I  have  been  quietly  moralizing 
on  the  flight  of  the  year.  The  result  of 
my  meditations  you  have  probably  seen  in 


80 


M  AEG  A  RET   ELI  Z  A  B  I:T  1 1 . 


^Memories  of  the  Year.'  Qtc'en  pensez 
vous?  May  I  tell  you  that  I  have  had  a 
Christmas  gift  already  from  a  friend? 
'Pleasant  Memories  of  Pleasant  Lands,' 
by  Mrs.  Sigourney.  My  first  thought  was, 
what  a  nice  time  I  should  have  reading  it 
to  you  when  I  get  home." 

During  the  winter  which  Margaret 
passed  under  her  uncle's  roof,  she  possess- 
ed many  advantages,  which  she  did  not 
fail  to  appreciate.  In  his  family  she  had 
the  privilege  of  companionship  with  indi- 
viduals, not  only  highly  gifted  and  educat- 
ed, but  of  gentle  and  loving  hearts,  and 
sincere  though  unassuming  piety.  With 
these  "kindred  spirits"  she  enjoyed  a 
daily  interchange  of  thought  and  feeling, 
the  effects  of  which  may  be  imagined  upon 
the  mind  of  one  so  alive  to  all  that  was 
refined  and  elevating.  Her  plans  for 
improvement,  also,  did  not  prove  abortive. 
Though  she  experienced  some  unavoida- 
ble interruptions,  yet  she  made  a  respecta- 
ble progress  in  different  pursuits  which 


^ 


" 


iTn  /^  i-vi» 


i-t\  \-yr\-\ 


I  /A         \-\  1^'%%      4»"i  1 


wA*v    iacivA     uuutsi  tltivtsii,     lliJU     iiUl     LimC     WaS 


11 


LEAVING   HOME. 


81 


fully  occupied  in  attending  to  duties  of 
various  kiiiuo.  Though  from  under  the 
eye  of  her  natural  guardians,  with  her  dis- 
position it  was  impossible  for  her  to  be 
idle  ;  still  must  she  be  employed  in  some- 
thing useful,  either  for  herself  or  others. 
Her  visit,  therefore,  did  not  fail  of  the  end 
proposed,  and  so  many  were  her  sources 
of  enjoyment,  amid  her  invariably  kind 
relatives  and  friends,  that  it  passed  as 
pleasantly  as  it  possibly  could  do,  away 
from  her  parents  and  her  own  domestic 
circle. 

In  the  month  of  March  of  this  year,  the 
Wesleyan  Church  in  Halifax  were  aroused 
to  greater  degrees  of  zeal  and  activity  in 
the  Redeemer's  service,  and,  as  a  conse- 
quence, were  led  to  put  forth  extra  efforts 
for  the  revival  of  "  pure  and  undefiled  re- 
ligion." Margaret,  in  her  letters  at  this 
time,  makes  frequent  allusion  to  this  cir- 
cumstance, and  to  the  blessed  results  pro- 
duced on  herself  and  others.  To  her 
father  she  writes,  March  16 :  ''  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  the  min- 

iafcivc!    ir»    i\\^a  irilaoo.  ha^TP-     far   fllP  Ipftt  fllVeA 


i 


rt 


:-  '.rryi^Wii.'jAJ^f^^^iM^^ 


\f^r 


»:■  '1 


hi*, 


:J 


'  I 


M; 


82 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


weeks,  been  liolding  a  series  of  services, 
morning  and  evening,  for  the  promotion 
of  a  revival  of  religion.  The  meetings  in 
the  morning  were  first  held  at  seven,  but 
are  now  at  half  past  six  o'clock.  I,  witli 
otlier  members  of  the  family,  attend  reg- 
nlarly.  For  some  time  everything  pro- 
ceeded very  quietly,  and  without  much 
apparent  result ;  and  even  now,  the  work 
is  going  on  more  in  families,  and  in  a 
seemingly  noiseless  manner,  than  mani- 
festing itself  in  great  excitement  in  the 
meetings,  though,  within  the  last  few  days, 
several  penitents  have  gone  forward  and 
found  peace.  Among  the  people  of  God 
a  most  blessed  influence  has  gone  forth, 
some  having  obtained  the  blessing  of  per- 
fect love I  am  thankful  that  God 

has  been  very  good  to  me  personally, 
in  drawing  me  to  give  myself  anew  to 
him,  and  in  giving  me  a  view  of  the 
Saviour,  which  fills  me  with  peace.  I 
think  that  the  Spirit  of  God  is  also  work- 
ing on  the   minds  of  those  around  me. 

is  a  most  punctual  attendant  on  the 

means  of  grace,    and   is  really,  I  think, 


i 


LEAVING   HOME. 


83 


V... 


deeplj  serious ;  and  E has,  I  believe, 

met  with  a  genuine  change  of  heart." 

In  a  letter  about  the  same  time  to  her 
mother,  she  says:  "I  wish  you  could  look 
in  upon  us  to-day ;  I  think  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  pure,  genuine  happiness  among  us. 

I-ow  delighted would  be  to  see  the 

change  in  E.      She  seems  to  have  lost  all 
fondness  for  light  or  trifling  conversation, 
and  will  steal  away  from  the  rest  to  get 
alone  with  the  Bible  or  some  devotional 
work.     She    expresses    herself  as    never 
having  felt  anything  like  it  before.     To- 
night is  band-meeting ;  we  are  going,  and 
I  should  not  wonder  if  she  spoke.     I  feel 
that  God  has  been  abundant  in  goodness  to 
this  family,  and  also  to  me,  in  placing  me 
here  in  the  midst  of  so  many  delightful 
privileges,  and  I  praise  him  that  I  feel,  in 
some  measure,  that  joy  '  which  nothing 
earthly  can  destroy.' " 

The  following  memoranda  are  made  by 
her  about  the  same  period: 

"  Friday,  Eose  this  morning  at  six,  and 
went  to  meeting.  A  very  delightful  in- 
fluence pervaded  the  service.     Attended 


¥' 


V! 


I.:  I 

4 


84 


MAKOAKET   ELIZABETH. 


meeting  also  in  the  evening.     Saturday, 

This  evening  Miss took  tea  with  ns, 

and   we  w^ent  to  band-meetins*.     E- 


liad  previously  made  up  her  mind  to  speak, 
if  possible,  and  she  succeeded  in  the  effort. 
She  spoke  very  briefly,  and  simply  of 
what  God  had  done  for  her.  Came  home, 
and  planned  going  to  meeting  in  the  morn- 
ing. /Sunday.  preached  this  morn- 
ing at  Grafton-street  Church,  and  E.  and  I 
walked  down  to  hear  him.  The  sermon 
was  most  delightful,  from  Rev.  iii,  8, 
'Behold,  I  have  set  before  thee  an  open 
door,'  &c.,  &c.     Went  to  Brunswick-street 

Church  in  the  evening,  and  heard . 

The  sermon  was  very  solemn  and  impress- 
ive." 


1 


^11" 


4 


LAST    SCENES    OF    LIFE. 


85 


CHAPTER  Y. 


LAST   SCENES   OF   LIFE. 


It  was  in  attending  one  of  the  early 
morning  meetings  that  Margaret  took 
a  cold,  which  laid  the  foundation  of  that 
insidious  but  fatal  malady,  consumption, 
which,  alas!  in  little  more  than  a  year, 
made  her  its  victim,  and  laid  lier  in  an 
untimely  grave.  Her  cold,  in  a  short 
time,  settled  into  a  slight  dry  cough,  not, 
to  a  superficial  observer,  of  sufficient  con- 
sequence to  excite  apprehensions.  It  was 
not  long,  however,  before  her  pallid  coun- 
tenance, wasting  form,  and  failing  strength, 
bore  iiiucbitable  evidence  that  diseas  * 
like  an  incubus,  was  pressing  upon  her. 
Still  ?he  did  not  seem  aware  of  this  her- 
self, or,  at  least,  did  not  acknowledge  it. 
Her  natural  disposition  led  her  always  to 
conceal,  as  far  as  possible,  any  bodily 
ailment  or  uncomfortable  feelings  that  she 
might  have,  and  from  a  fear  of  causing 


I 


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11 

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II 

i; 

H 

P 

H 

i; 

I 

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r 

■ 

IH 

% 

HI 

1 

IH 

1 

86  MAKUARET   ELIZABETH. 

uneasiness  to  her  friends,  and  especially  to 
her  mother,  she  carried  this  to  an  extreme. 
It  was  a  matter  of  great  difficiilty,  nnder 
any  circumstances,  to  draw  from  her  an 
acknowledgment  that  she  was  not  well. 
The  fact  must  be  so  self-evident,  and  com- 
mend itself  so  palpably  to  the  notice  ot 
those  around  her,  as  to  render  a  demal 
useless  before  she  could  be  brought  to 
admit  it.     This  peculiarity  of  hers  may 
account  for  her  so  studiously  conceahng 
from  the  friends  with  whom  she  was  then 
residing,    all  that   she   was   able  of  her 
unfavorable  symptoms.      It  induced  her 
also  to  keep  her  parents  in  ignorance  oi 
her  failing  health.     Not  the  least  allusion 
to  such  a  state  of  things  is  made  m  her 
letters  ;  and  thus,  while  every  succeeding 
day  saw  her  bowing  more  fully  before  the 
power  of  disease,  they  supposed  her  to  be 
perfectly  well,  and  were  delighting  them- 
selves with  the  idea  of  her  return  home  m 
hi-h  health  and  spirits.  Margaret's  unselt- 
islmess  of  character  lay  at  the  foundation 
of  this   disposition.     She    was  so    much 
occupied  with  others,  and  thought  so  little 


LAST   SCENKS   OF   LIFE. 


87 


of 


I 


of  herself,  that  her  own  feelings  she  passed 
lightly  over,  and  really  did  not  think  them 
of  sufficient  importance  to  obtrude  on  the 
notice  of  her  friends,  especially  when  the 
result  might  be  that  of  exciting  anxiety  on 
her  account.    Home-sickness  was,  in  truth, 
the  malady  with  which  she  believed  her- 
self affected,  and  as  this,  since  her  declin- 
ing state,  had  come  over  her  with  irresist- 
ible power,  she  mistook  the  effect  for  the 
cause  of  her  illness,  and  had  no  doubt  in 
her   own   mind  that,  could  she  once  get 
home,    she   should   again  be  quite   welL 
But  of  this  she  said  nothing;  and  thouo-h 
her  heart  went  forth  with  an  indescribable 
yearning  toward  the  spot  where  were  the 
dearest  objects  of  her  love,  she  remained, 
waiting  with  patience,  till   the  summons 
should  arrive  for  her  return.     This  could 
not  be  very  soon,  for  it  was  now  the  season 
of  the  year  when  the  roads  were  in  such  a 
state  as  to  be  nearly  impassable. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  friends  with 
whom  she  then  was,  watched  over  her 
wdth  tender  care,  and  endeavored,  as  much 
as  possible,  to  recruit  her  strength  for  her 

6 


if  ' 


m 


w 


I  i  <ll 


88 


MAEGARET   ELIZABETH. 


homew 


the 


drew 


time 
near,  sue  raiiieu  -^u  .^c.  energies,  and,  in- 
spired by  the  hope  of  soon  again  seeing 
her  parents,  and  joining  her  own  domestic 
circle,  she  really  persuaded  herself  that 
her  health  was  improved.  Her  invariable 
answer  to  the  inquiries  of  her  friends  was, 
"  that  she  had  not  been  well,  but  that 
she  was  now  better."  „  ,r 

As  giving  a  view  of  the  tone  of  Marga- 
ret's feelings,  and  of  the  light  in  which  she 
regarded  the  events  of  life,  the  following 
extracts  are  inserted,  taken  from  the  albums 
of  two  young  ladies,  who  had  requested 
something  from  her  pen  ere  she  left  Hali- 
fax.    It  is  a  truly  affecting  circumstance, 

that  the  young  lady  addressed  as  I ^_has 

since  fallen  a  victim  to  the  same  iatal 
disease  which  brought  Margaret  to  an 
early  tomb,  and  that  but  a  few  months 
after  the  death  of  the  latter,  they  met 
again  in  the  spirit  land : 

«  Strange  thoughts  and  sad  are  guests 

with  me  to-night,  dear  L ,  as  I  attempt 

to  trace  a  broken  line  in  this  your  cherish- 
ed souvenir.     Memories  come   crowding 


LAST  SCENLS   OF   LIl'E. 


m 


^m 


thick  and  fast  about  me,  of  the  hour  when 
we  met,  and  scarcely  can  I  realize  that 
six  months  have  nearly  winged  their 
solemn  flight  into  eternity  since  then. 
Yet  so  it  is,  and  now  very  suddenly  are 
we  called  to  give  the  farewell  greetings, 
and  sever  the  companionship  of  months. 
He  whose  far-searching  eye  can  read  the 
limitless  pages  of  the  dark  future,  alone 
can  tell  whether  we  shall  meet  again  in 
the  fleeting,  shadowy  space  of  time,  that  we 
call  life,  or  whether  our  next  meeting  shall 
be  where  all  is  reality  forever. 

"  What  a  blessed  hope  it  is,  dear  L , 

and  to  those  who  are  parting,  doubly  dear, 
that  of  another  home,  a  changeless  home, 
which  the  homes  of  earth,  bright  as  they 
are,  only  image  faintly  forth. 

"  May  I  ask  that  sometimes,  amid  the 
pleasant  scenes  of  your  own  sunny  land, 
and  amid  the  groups  of  those  on  whom 
affection  has  flung  her  brightest  garland, 
you  will  bestow  a  passing  remembrance 
upon  one,  far  away  in  a  northern  clime, 
wlio  will  ever  link  your  image  with  the 
recollection    of    bright    scenes    of  joy? 


tf 


n 


1! 


90  MAKGAKET   ELIZABETH.     ^ 

Memory  has  garnered  up  many  a  loving 
recollection  of  you ;  they  are  graven  where 
time  cannot  efface,  and  hope,  unreasonable 
hope,  whispers  in  my  ear  that  you  may 
once  more  return  to  our  shores. 

"  May  the  eternal  arm  be  ever  around 
and  beneath  you  in  all  your  journeyings, 
granting  you  a  joyous  gathermg  once 
more  around  the  household  hearth,  and 
may  we,  when  life  is  over,  be  presented 
'  faultless  before  the  presence  ot  his  glory 
with  exceeding  joy.' 

"  .i^ril,  1854." 

"  A  parting  greeting  is  mine,  dear  I        , 
to-night,  as  I  pen  a  wandering  Une  for  your 
eye     Moons  have  waxed  and  waned  smce 
4t  we  met,   and  now  the  hour  draws 
nigh  when  the  parting  words   must  be 
said.     Such  is  life ;  now  a  brilUant  buret 
of  sunshine,  then  the  storm  cloud  and  the 
tempest.     Such  changes  would  make  this 
earth  of  ours,  fair  as  it  is  in  its  natural 
adornment,  very  dreary,  were  it  not  tor 
the  hope  we  have,  the  glorious  hope,  ot  a 
home  where  change  and   parting  come 


LAST   SCENE8   OF   LIFE. 


V9i. 


not.     So   should    each   of  life's   changes 
speak  to  us  of  a  world 

•  Too  high,  too  fair 
For  the  spoiler's  breath  to  enter  there/ 

"Let  US  both,  looking  aside  from  the 
fleeting  scenes  of  a  heartless  world,  fix 
tlie  unfolding  affections  of  the  youthful 
spirit  on  Him  who  so  loved  us,  that,  cen- 
turies ago,  he  poured  forth  his  blood  or 
us  on  the  mountain  top. 

"  May,  1854." 

At  length,  having  received  a  letter  from 
her  father,  fixing  the  day  of  her  leaving 
Halifax,  she  set  out  at  the  time  appointed, 
accompanied  by  one  of  her  cousins,  for 
Sackville.  We  shall  pass  over  the  details 
of  her  journey  homeward,  merely  remark- 
ing, that  the  exposure  and  fatigue  attend- 
ing it  would  have  been,  even  to  a  person 
in  health,  sufficiently  great ;  but  to  her, 
in  her  circumstances,  they  were  perilous 
and  well-nigh  fatal. 

Margaret's  family,  in  the  mean  time,  had 
been  looking  forward  eagerly  and  joyfully 
to  her  return ;  and  her  father  and  brother 


II' i 


in 


It 


!l 


I     I 
( 


!i 


92  MARGAKET   ELIZABETH. 

now  set  off  for  Parrsborough,  to  meet  her 
and  her  cousin  on  the  way.     On  the  day 
the  whole  party  was  expected  home,  every 
heart  beat  high  with  delightful  anticipa- 
tions,  and   smiles  sat   on   every   counte- 
nance.    AH   the    domestic    arrangements 
were  made  in  reference  to  this  event,  and 
as  the  afternoon  waned  away  and  evening 
approached,  tliere  was  an  eager  listening, 
while  quick  feet  hurried  to  the  windows 
at  every  sound   from  without.     Not  till 
after  nightfall,  however,  did  the  carriages 
which  contained  the  travelers  drive  up  to 
the  house.     And  now,  while  some  of  the 
family  hastened  out  to  meet  them,  how 
impatiently  were  the  eyes  of  those  within 
turned  to  the  door,  through  which  they 
expected  to  see  Margaret  come  bounding 
in  to  rush  into  her  mother's  arras!     But 
an  unaccountable  delay  seemed  to  attend 
her  movements,  which,  in  those  accustom- 
ed to  her  usual  mode  of  proceeding,  excit- 
ed even  at  that  moment  a  vague  wonder. 
This  wonder  deepened  in  intensity,  and 
became  mingled  with  feelings  of  a  more 
painful  character,  when  a  poor,  emaciated 


LAST   SCENES   OF   LIFE. 


invalid,  whom  lier  own  mother  hardly  rec- 
ognized, the  very  wreck  indeed  of  her 
former  self,  tottered  into  the  apartment. 
O,  what  a  havoc  had  disease  effected ! 
In  the  sharpened  features,  deathlike  pallor 
of  countenance,  and  sunken  eye,  from 
which  every  trace  of  its  former  animation 
had  departed,  what  a  tale  of  suffering 
was  unfolded  !  As  the  whole  truth  broke 
upon  the  minds  of  those  present,  they  felt 
that  she  was  gone,  gone.  That  night,  each 
one  of  that  household  band  lay  down  with 
a  stricken  heart,  on  which  pressed  a  weight 

of  sorrow. 

But  not  without  a  vigorous  struggle 
would  the  parents  yield  their  beloved  one 
to  the  grasp  of  the  destroyer.  "While 
there  is  life,  there  is  hope,"  is  an  old  but 
true  aphorism,  and  acting  on  it,  they  de- 
termined that  if  aught  of  human  effort, 
either  in  the  w  ay  of  medical  treatment,  or 
of  tender  and  unwearied  care  and  nursing, 
could  avail  to  save  her,  she  should  be 
saved.  In  the  morning,  therefore,  a  phy- 
sician was  called  in,  in  whose  professional 
abilities  they  had  the  highest  confidence. 


!('  t'*.y 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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iiUiugia^Jiiio 

Sciences 
Corporatior 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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94  MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 

Alas!  Ills  cpinion  confirmed  their  worst 
fears ;  she  was  pronounced  far  gone  in 
consumption.  Her  journey  homeward 
liad,  indeed,  greatly  accelerated  the  prog- 
ress of  her  malady,  and  had  brought  on 
most  alarming  symptoms.  Her  cough  was 
now  so  distressing  that  she  was  not  able 
to  lie  down  for  a  moment,  but  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  support  her  with  pillows  in  an 
upright  position,  both  night  and  day.  So 
complete,  also,  was  the  prostration  of  her 
strength,  that  she  was  incapable  of  walk- 
ing a  single  step.  Altogether,  she  ap- 
peared to  be  in  dying  circumstances,  and 
for  some  weeks  lingered  in  the  most  pre- 
carious state,  her  physician  and  friends 
being  prepared,  at  any  moment,  for  her 
death.  They  still  continued,  however, 
to  use  every  possible  means  that  could 
conduce  to  the  alleviation  of  her  suffer- 
ings, if  not  to  her  ultimate  recovery; 
and  after  a  season,  to  the  surprise  of  all, 
she  began  to  rally  and  revive,  her  worst 
symptoms  a,bated,  and  it  was  soon  beyond 
a  doubt  that  her  health  was  slowly  but 
certainly  improving. 


Ill 


LAST   SCENES    OF   LIFE. 


96 


Although  Margaret  had  been  reduced 
80  low,  yet  for  some  time  she  was  perfectly 
unaware  of  her  danger,  it  never  having, 
strange  to  say,  occurred  to  her  mind  that 
there  was  anything  serious  in  her  case. 
When  at  length  she  was  informed  by  her 
father  of  what  was  her  real  state,  the 
truth  broke  upon  her  with  the  suddenness 
and  shock  of  a  thunder-clap.  "  Is  there  no 
hope  ?"  she  asked,  while  her  countenance 
plainly  revealed  how  painful  to  her  was 
the  idea  of  dying.  It  was  not  the  fear  of 
death  in  itself,  but  other  thoughts  that  filled 
her  mind  with  anguish.  Kature  was  now 
speaking  in  her  heart's  inmost  depths  of 
the  severing  of  the  ties  that  bound  her  to 
parents,  brothers,  tnd  friends;  and  the 
foreshadowing  darkness  of  the  grave, 
"darkness  that  might  be  felt,"  was  now 
coming  down  and  settling  upon  the  vista 
of  her  future,  but  just  before  so  softly 
gilded  and  studded  with  the  anticipations 
and  sanguine  schemes  of  youth.  These 
all,  with  her,  had  been  intimately  connect- 
ed with  and  controlled  by  her  ruling 
passion,  the  desire  for  usefulness.     "  O," 


i  i.  ii 


96 


MA.KGARET   ELIZABETH. 


she  said  on  this  occasion,  "there  does 
appear  to  me  so  much  to  make  a  Chris- 
tian wish  to  Hve,  one  might  be  so  nsefuh" 
But  now  these  her  cherished  expectations 
were  about  being  wrested  from  her  grasp ; 
and  thusj  amid  the  wreck  of  earthly  hopes 
and  purposes,  and  ere  the  hand  of  faith 
had  fully  lifted  the  vail  which  shrouded 
from  her  view  the  yet  more  distant,  the 
glorious,  the  eternal  future,  what  wonder 
was  it  that  the  soul's  wailing  should  be 
heard?  To  her  parents,  however,  it  was 
distressing  in  the  extreme  to  behold  her 
apparently  sinking  into  the  grave,  while 
her  heart  clung  with  such  tenacity  to  life. 
"  Could  I  but  see  her  willing,  entirely 
willing  to  go,"  said  her  mother,  "it  would 
extract  the  bitterest  drop  from  this  cup." 

Margaret's  convalescence  removed  this 
trial.  The  Lord  in  mercy  saw  it  best  not 
to  take  her  then.  He  spared  her  for  a  little, 
until  every  earth-tie  was  so  fully  loosed, 
that  she  could  say  with  the  apostle,  "  To 
depart  and  be  with  Christ  is  far  better." 

The  following  imperfect  lines,  penciled 
on  a  scrap  of  paper,  refer  to  her  illness, 


LAST    SCENES    OF   LIFE. 


97 


JJ 


and  though  without  date,  were  evidently 
written  by  her  about  this  period : 


o 


o 


•-The  shadow 


Of  the  past  lies  trembling  on  my  spirit. 

Months  have  waned,  and  I  have  been  a  wanderer 

From  my  home.    Life  was  bright,  and  many  a  fouat 

Of  pleasure  was  unsealed,  and  deep  I  drank 

Of  the  pure  flowing  stream,  yet  drank  not  joy. 

Hope  was  around  my  path,  and  many  a  kindly  voice 

Spoke  loving  word  ,  unto  the  stranger  one, 

And  many  a  hand  guided  most  tenderly 

Her  steps.     Yet  amid  the  blossoming 

Of  joy's  first  dewy  flowers,  and  amid 

Caressing  love  of  all  around,  there  came 

A  longing,  deep  and  undefined, 

A  fervent  yearning,  for  those  so  far  away — 

For  a  mother's  gentle  smile  ;  and  there  came 

That  "  warrior  in  somber  harness  mailed,'' 

And  laid  his  chilly  hand  upon  the  heart, 

Palsied  the  frame,  and  bade  the  life-blood  creep 

But  slowly  through  the  veins.    Long  did  those  who 

watched 
Deem  that  the  race  was  run,  and  the  soul's  fetters 
All  unbound.    But  there  came  at  last 
A  feeble  wakening  to  life,  and  hope  again 
Springs  up,  where  she  had  been  so  long  a  stranger. 
And  though  life  seems  yet  a  trembling  vision, 
Which  may  quickly  fade  before  a  breath. 
Yet  there  is  hope." 

In  a  letter  to  a  friend,  dated  the  27th  of 
September,  she  says,  "  I  would  that  I  could 


WB  MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 

see  you  to-niglit,  dear  L ,  just  to  sit 

beside  you,  and  talk  over  some  of  the 
changeful  scenes  that  have  come  and  fled 
since  we  parted.  I  could  tell  you  how  the 
distressing  languor,  which  chained  me  in 
lassitude  and  weariness  for  some  time  be- 
fore I  left  Halifax,  proved  to  be,  though  I 
would  not  acknowledge  it,  but  the  first 
stealthy  approach  of  disease.  But  with 
this  I  will  not  weary  your  patience ;  through 
the  mercy  of  Him  '  who  doeth  all  things 
well,'  I  am  much,  very  much  better,  and 
once  more  the  long-forgotten  hopes  of  life 
are  springing  up  in  my  bosom.     Pray  for 

me,  dear  L ,  that  every  xiour  of  life's 

history  may  bear  upward,  before  the  throne, 
a  record  for  good." 

The  means  employed  for  her  recovery 
were  so  far  successful,  that  by  the  latter 
part  of  the  autumn,  her  health  seemed 
wonderfully  improved,  so  that,  to  use  her 
own  language,  "  she  felt  nearly  as  well  as 
she  had  ever  done."  Her  friends  were 
now  greatly  encouraged,  and  fondly  ima- 
gined that  the  bitterness  of  death  was  past. 
They  flattered  themselves,  that  though  she 


LAST    SCENES    OF   LIFE. 


99 


niight  never,  perhaps,  be  as  robust  as  for- 
merly, yet  that  she  might  attain  a  com- 
fortable degree  of  health,  and  be  spared 
to  them  for  years  to  cheer,  by  her  presence, 
their  hearts,  and  enliven  their  ciicle.     But 
God's  thoughts  are  not  as  our  thoughts : 
these  hopes  were  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment.    About  the  beginning  of  the  year, 
notwithstanding  all  the  precautions  used 
to  prevent  such  a  result,  Margaret  took 
cold,  and  from  that  time  her  health  began 
again  to  fail.      Her  decline  was  steady, 
but  so  o-radual  as  to  be  at  first  almost 
imperceptible.     After  a  few  weeks,  new 
and  alarming  features  began  to  develop 
themselves,  which,  in  the   end,  merged 
her  original  disorder  into  one  of  a  still 
more  distressing  character.    Medical  skill 
and  all  other  means  were  now  alike  un- 
availing.    Time,    which    speeds    on    his 
way   with    a   noiseless,    but    unimpeded 
wing,  saw  her  becoming  each  day  weaker 
and  weaker,  her  sufferings  greater,  and 
her   case   more    complicated   and   hope- 
less. 

Although  very  feeble,  yet  for  a  long 


*  > 


•ji 


100 


MAJRGARET    ELIZABETH. 


Wl     I' 


Ifi 


while  she  could,  with  assistance,  rise  and 
dress  each  morning,  after  which  she  would 
go  to  her  mother's  room,  at  first  being  able 
to  walk  thither,  afterward,  when  her  weak- 
ness had  increased,  being  drawn  in  a  chair. 
She  would  there  recline  during  the  day  on 
the  sofa,  sometimes  lying  for  hours  with 
her  eyes  closed,  clasping  her  Bible  in  her 
hand,  or  with  her  hands  folded  on  her 
breast,  as  if  in  prayer  or  meditation.  Who 
may  enter  into  her  thoughts  or  emotions 
while  in  this  position,  from  day  to  day,  or 
calculate  the  alternate  ebb  and  flow  of  the 
contending  tides  of  natural  and  gracious 
feeling,  ere  the  latter  triumphed  ?  Imag- 
ination may  picture  the  struggle,  as  also 
the  depth  and  solemnity  of  those  sensa- 
tions, arising  from  a  conviction  forced  upon 
her  mind,  beyond  the  possibility  of  a  doubt, 
that  the  world  was  actually  receding  from 
her,  and  eternity  drawing  near.  How 
little,  however,  can  we  appreciate  the  pro- 
found character  of  those  mental  exercises, 
whose  result  was  so  complete  a  revolution 
in  her  wishes  as  it  regards  living !  The 
change  in  her  state  of  feeling  manifested 


wmmm. 


L'ise  and 
e  would 
Ing  able 
;r  weak- 
a  chair. 
3  day  on 
irs  with 
3  in  her 
on  her 
,  Who 
motions 
day,  or 
V  of  the 
gracious 
Imag- 
as  also 
)  sensa- 
3d  upon 
I  doubt, 
ng  from 
How 
the  pro- 
:ercises, 
''olution 
!  The 
nifested 


BEADING    THE    WORD    OF    GOD. 


gW!^^P55MB^S»lf; 


LAST   SCENES   OF    LIFE. 


103 


itself  in  due  time,  but  the  process  by  which 
it  was  effected  is  hidden  in  secrecy,  and 
can  be  known  only  to  God  and  her  own 
spirit.  Even  then,  however,  though  she 
was  silent  with  respect  to  her  experience 
on  this  point,  it  was  apparent  that  earth 
had  lost  its  hold  upon  her  affections  and 
attention.  Her  conduct  and  manner  seemed 
to  indicate  that  the  world  and  its  concerns 
were  now  as  nothing  to  her.  Even  before 
she  was  incapacitated  by  weakness,  she 
turned  with  indifference  from  objects 
which,  when  in  health,  would  have  afford- 
ed her  the  utmost  gratification.  The  Bible 
and  the  Hymn  Book  were  now  the  only 
books  into  which  she  looked ;  other  works 
of  a  religious  or  literary  character,  in 
which  formerly  she  took  such  delight, 
failed  to  interest  her  in  the  least. 

That  Margaret  was  conscious  of  the 
hopelessness  of  her  state,  is  evident  from 
the  character  of  even  her  dreams.  One 
of  these  is  particularly  remembered.  She 
imagined  she  was  requested  by  some  per- 
son to  write  some  verses,  when  she  re- 
turned the  following  answer : 


lU 


104 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


N  ' 


"  The  lyre  is  hush'd ;  why  then  wouldst  thou  awake 
The  untaught  melody,  that  cannot  charm  or  please  ? 

No;  let  it  idle  stand,  its  chords  unsnrept, 
Save  by  the  fitful  hand  of  the  unslumbering  breeze." 

TliebC  toucliing  lines  were  so  fresli  upon 
her  memory  that  she  was  able  to  repeat 
them  when  she  awoke,  and  they  were 
penned  down  from  her  lips.  They  may  be 
considered  her  parting  words  on  the  final 
relinquishment  of  the  favorite  employment 
which  was  her  delight  in  childhood,  her 
solace  in  riper  years,  and  by  means  of 
which,  as  through  a  chosen  channel,  she 
breathed  forth  the  fervent  yearnings  of  her 
spirit  for  the  good  of  others. 

One  morning,  about  a  month  before  her 
death,  Margaret  found  herself  unabie  to 
rise,  and  from  that  time  she  was  obliged 
to  remain  in  bed.  On  the  evening  of  the 
same  day,  her  physician,  calling  to  see  her, 
was  shocked  to  find  her  very  much  worse, 
and  at  once  faithfully  informed  her  moth- 
er of  the  utter  impossibility  that  she  could 
long  survive,  adding,  that,  in  her  circum- 
stances, it  was  almost  a  miracle  that  she 
lived  on  from  day  to  day.     This  intelli- 


n 


LAST  SCENES   OF  LIFK. 


105 


ff 


gcncc,  thongli  for  some  time  dreaclcd,  and 
partly  expected  by  Mrs.  Des  Brisay,  yet 
serving,  as  it  now  did,  to  dispel  the  last 
faint  hope  to  which,  nntil  that  moment, 
she  had  clung,  was,  in  its  effects  upon  her, 
overwhelming.  The  agitation  an^.'  sorrow 
into  which  she  was  immediately  thrown, 
and  which  shook  her  soul  to  its  very  cen- 
ter, derived  their  greatest  force,  however, 
from  the  apprehension  that  her  daughter's 
wishes,  with  respect  to  living,  remained 
unchanged.  The  idea  that  she  should  be 
fondly  cherishing  the  hope  of  life,  while 
its  last  frail  thread  was  in  the  very  act  of 
being  sundered,  seemed  to  her  almost  in- 
supportable. These  feelings  were  fully 
shared  by  Margaret's  father,  and  he  now 
hastened  to  her  apartment,  to  speak  with 
her  concerning  her  state.  The  sounds  of 
grief,  however,  from  her  mother's  room, 
had  already  caught  her  ear,  notwithstand- 
ing the  efforts  that  had  been  made  to  pre- 
vent it,  and  forgetful,  as  usual,  of  herself, 
she  exclaimed,  on  seeing  her  father,  "  O, 
why  does  mamma  weep  so?  O,  I  wish 
she  would  not ;  she  will  make  herself  ill." 
-         .     7 


il 


it 


-I  I 


i  ii 


II 


h',. 


n 


•* 


fcj 


106  MAEGAEET  EL'-IABErH. 

Then  adding,  after  a  sliort  pause,  as  her 
thoughts  recurred  to  herself,  "I  am  sure 
the  doctor  thinks  me  very  ill."    Her  father 
now,  in  as  gentle  a  manner  as  possible, 
gave  her  to  imderstand  what  the  doctor 
had  said,  and  the  entire  hopelessness  of 
her  case.    She  heard  him  with  the  utmost 
calmness,  merely  saying,  «  This  is  what  I 
have  been  long  expecting."    A  long  and 
highly  satisfactory  conversation  then  en- 
sued between  them  respecting  her  state 
of  mind.    Without  any  very  lively  emo- 
tions of  joy,  she  appeared  to  be  in  an  ex- 
tremely peaceful  frame,  resting  on  the 
atonement,  and  confiding  all  her  interests 
into  the  hands  of  her  Kedeemer.    The 
clear  and  firm,  though  soft  and  touchmg 
tones  of  her  voice,  while  replying  to  her 
father,  her  serenity  of  countenance  and 
placidity  of  manner,  as  well  as  her  expres- 
sions uttered,  are  enshrined  bv  memory  in 
the  hearts  of  those  she  has  left  behind,  and 
remain  a  precious  legacy  to  be  contem- 
plated and  wept  over,  but  yet  to  be  regard- 
ed with  thankfulness  as  evidences  of  a 
peaco  and  composure  of  mind  at  the  ap- 


*►' 


-'  tt 


.« 


LAST   SCENES   OF   LIFE. 

proacli  of  death,  which  Divine  grace  alone 
could  produce.  The  next  day,  a  bed  being 
prepared  for  her  in  her  mother's  apart- 
ment, she  was  removed  thither.  This  ar- 
rangement afforded  her  much  satisfaction. 
With  feelings  similar  to  those  of  a  child 
inclosed  in  its  mother's  arms,  and  reposing 
on  her  bosom,  every  earthly  wish  of  her 
heart  seemed  gratified  in  thus  being 
brought  into  proximity  so  close  and  unin- 
terrupted to  her  mother.  Eepeatedly 
would  she  look  at  her  with  a  smile  and 
say,  "  O,  mamma,  how  happy  I  am  to  be 
here  with  you ;  how  kind  in  you  to  have 
me  brought  into  your  room.  O,  I  am  so 
thankful !"  So  favorable  an  effect,  indeed, 
had  this  circumstance  upon  her,  and  so 
pleasant  and  cheerful  did  she  in  conse- 
quence appear,  that  it  was  liard  to  per- 
suade one's  self  that  she  was  not  materially 
better. 

Those  who  have  stood  by  the  bedside  of 
the  sick,  while  wasting  away  under  a  fatal 
disease ;  who  have  beheld  them  in  the  in- 
tervals of  suffering,  when  the  powers  of 
nature  appeared  to  rally  and  revive ;  when 


108 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


i 


hi 
Iff 


llie  eye  beamed  brightly,  and  the  lips  gave 
utterance  to  thoughts  and  sentiments  with 
their  wonted  ease  and  readiness,  such 
know  how  difficult  it  is,  in  such  a  situation, 
to  realize,  that  all  this  is  but  as  the  gleam- 
ing up  of  the  torch  before  its  final  extinc- 
tion. To  Margaret's  case,  this  remark  par- 
ticularly applies.  So  much  did  she  at 
times  seem  like  her  former  self,  so  unim- 
paired and  in  full  vigor  were  her  mental 
faculties,  so  clear  and  full  was  her  voice, 
so  expressive  her  countenance,  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  believe  that  she  was 
even  then  sinking  into  the  grave. 

But  such  seasons  as  these  were  now  of 
rarer  occurrence,  and  her  suff'erings  were 
becoming  more  uninterrupted  and  aggra- 
\  ated.  The  fortitude,  patience,  and  resig- 
nation, with  which  those  suiferings  were 
endured,  could  not  be  surpassed ;  while  to 
conceal  them  as  much  as  possible  from  her 
mother,  seemed  the  point  toward  which 
all  her  efforts  were  directed.  "When  ques- 
tioned on  this  subject,  her  answer  almost 
invariably  was  such  as  the  following: 
"Yes,  I  am  suffering  somewhat,  yet  not, 


li 


LAST   SCENES  OF  LIFE. 


109 


gave 
with 
such 
ation, 
leam- 
stinc- 
k  par- 
le  at 
Liiiim- 
lental 
s^oice, 
t  was 
e  was 

:)w  of 

w^ere 

Lggra- 

resig- 

wero 

lile  to 

m  her 

which 

ques- 

dmost 

wing : 

it  not, 


perhaps,  as  much  as  might  be  expected." 
Once  only,  when  in  circumstances  pecu- 
liarly distressing,  she  exclaimed,  looking 
at  her  mother,  ''O,  is  it  not  dreadful?" 
Then  observing  that  her  mother  was  quite 
overcome  by  her  feelings,  she  quickly 
added,  "  O,  well !  after  all  it  is  not  so  bad ; 
it  might  be  worse  than  it  is." 

The  scene  in  Mrs.  Des  Brisay's  apart- 
ment had  now  assumed  an  interest  of  an 
intensely  affecting  and  painful  kind.  On 
one  couch  might  be  seen,  supported  by 
pillows  and  cushions,  life  slowly  ebbing 
away,  the  only  and  most  tenderly  beloved 
daughter,  in  whom,  from  her  earliest  years, 
the  fondest  and  most  dearly  cherished 
hopes  had  centered.  On  another  w^as  the 
afflicted  mother,  enchained  by  her  own 
pain  and  weakness,  and  to  whom  was,  in 
consequence,  denied  the  privilege  granted 
to  others  of  ministering  by  the  1  jdside  of 
her  departing  child.  Yet  it  was  hers  to 
watch  that  child  with  the  unwearied  solici- 
tude and  tenderness  which  a  mother  only 
can  know,  through  every  phase  and  on- 
ward step  of  her  disease ;  and  forgetful  of 


110 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


I 


i! 


k 


If  { 


i>i 


her  own  state,  to  direct  and  superintend 
all  that  was  done  for  her,  even  to  so  mi- 
nute an  act  as  the  placing  of  a  pillow. 
AVonderful  indeed  to  the  beholders  were 
the  untiring  efforts  to  which  the  all-power- 
ful sentiment  of  maternal  love  prompted, 
and  the  unfailing  energy  which  it  supplied. 
But  as  the  closing  scene  drew  near,  and 
was  anticipated  by  those  around,  it  became 
a  problem  with  them,  what  would  be  the 
issue  in  the  case  of  the  bereaved  mother ; 
whether  the  excitement  and  cause  for  ex- 
ertion being  no  more,  her  frail,  emaciated 
frame,  weakened  by  years  of  suffering, 
might  not  sink  beneath  this  overwhelming 
stroke ;  or  whether  the  power  of  Divine 
grace  might  not  carry  her  triumphantly, 
physically  as  well  as  mentally,  even  through 
this  great  tribulation.    As,  on  the  one  hand, 
they  pictured  in  imagination  the  scene  of 
death  and  its  attendant  circumstances,  the 
dying  struggles   and  agonies,  and  then, 
when  all  should  be  over,  the  removal  of 
the  lifeless  remains  from  the  presence  of 
the  mother,  to  be  seen  by  her  no  more, 
their  minds  almost  staggered  under  the 


LAST   SCENES   OF   LIFE. 


Ill 


the 


apprehension  of  what  would  be  the  conse- 
quences. On  the  other  hand,  when  they 
recalled  to  memory,  in  how  many  instances 
of  a  peculiarly  trying  nature,  that  promise 
had  been  conspicuously  fulfilled  in  Mrs. 
Des  Brisay's  past  experience,  "As  thy 
days,  so  shall  thy  strength  be,"  they  could 
not  but  indulge  some  expectation  that  it 
would  be  so  in  the  present  case.  The  re- 
sult proved  that  the  latter  supposition  was 
correct.  On  April  8th,  her  last  Sabbath  on 
earth,  Margaret  was  very  low,  but  able  at 
times  to  converse  a  little.  She  listened 
with  great  attention  and  delight  to  the  fif- 
teenth chapter  of  1  Corinthians,  read  to 
her  by  her  mother.  The  latter,  though  in- 
capacitated from  reading,  through  a  pecu- 
liar aflfection  of  the  head,  for  a  number  of 
years  past,  had,  strange  to  say,  lately  re- 
gained this  power,  and  during  the  latter 
part  of  Margaret's  illness,  had  been  able 
to  read  aloud  to  her  passages  and  even 
chapters  from  the  Scriptures,  and  thus  had 
contributed  greatly  to  her  edification  and 
consolation.  On  the  present  occasion, 
Margaret's  mind  appeared  much  comfort- 


Mil 


112 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


ed,  and  she  spoke,  with  evident  pleasure, 
of  the  glorious  truths  of  the  Bible,  particu- 
larly dwelling  on  the  sublime  doctrine  of 
the  resurrection.  Afterward  she  sunk  into 
rather  a  lethargic  state,  which  her  mother 
perceiving,  said,  ^'Perhaps,  my  dea-^  you 
find  it  somewhat  difficult  to  concentrate 
your  mind  sufficiently  for  regular  prayer." 
"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  but  I  can  trust :" 
a  simple,  beautiful  reply. 

Monday  was  a  day  of  great  suffering, 
but  her  mental  powers  were  in  full  vigor. 
Toward  evening,  being  left  alone  with 
her  mother,  the  mind  of  the  latter  was 
particularly  impressed  with  the  necessity 
of  improving  the  occasion  in  speaking  to 
her  daughter  respecting  her  views  and 
feelings  in  prospect  of  death.  This  had 
been  a  subject  too  painfully  affecting  to  be 
named  to  each  other  since  her  relapse. 
Though  much  delightful  and  highly  satis- 
factory conversation  had  taken  place  be- 
tween them  on  spiritual  things,  and  on 
Margaret's  own  religious  experience,  yet 
each,  to  spare  the  feelings  of  the  other,  had 
maintained  a  profound  silence   on    this 


•I  n 


LAST    SCENES   OF   LIFE. 


113 


point.  But  now,  at  the  present  juncture, 
it  seemed  necessary  that  this  silence  should 
be  broken.  After  some  preliminary  re- 
marks, therefore,  summoning  up  all  the 
fortitude  she  could  command,  Mrs.  Des 
Brisay  pointedly  inquired  of  her  daughter 
whether  she  thought  she  should  ever  re- 
cover. "E"o,"  she  answered,  "I  never 
shall."  "  Are  you  afraid  to  die  ?"  "  No." 
"  Why  are  you  not  afraid  ?"  "  Because  I 
think  it  will  be  well  with  me  ;  I  think  the 
Lord  will  take  me  to  himself."  "Are 
you  willing  to  die  ?"  "Yes."  "Perfectly 
willing ;  more  so  than  you  were  last  sum- 
mer ?"  "  O  yes."  "  Do  you  feel  you  love 
the  Saviour?"  "Yes."  "  And  that  he  loves 
you?"  "O  yes."  "How  does  heaven 
appear  to  you  ?"  "  Yery  glorious  indeed." 
lu  this  tranquil  manner,  as  indicated  by 
these  and  similar  replies,  did  Margaret 
view  the  approach  of  him  who  is  emphat- 
ically styled  the  "King  of  Terrors."  But 
in  her  case,  sin,  the  sting  of  death,  was  ex- 
tracted, and  unhesitatingly  she  could  adopt 
the  triumphant  language  of  the  apostle, 
"  O  death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?     O  grave, 


114 


MARGARET  ELIZABETU. 


n 


U  .      'ii 


where  is  thy  victory?"  "But  thanks  bo 
to  God,  who  giveth  us  the  victory  through 
our  Lord  Jestjs  Christ." 

A  few  hours  after  the  above  conversa- 
tion, during  the  night,  Margaret  was  seized 
with  delirium  of  a  mild  character,  ^  and 
though  there  were  subsequently  occasional 
intervals  in  which  she  appeared  rational, 
yet  it  was  after  she  had  lost  the  power  of 
uttering  more  than  a  word  or  two. 

Tuesday  and  Tuesday  night  were  marked 
by  extreme  suffering,  and  great  restless- 
ness with  regard  to  posture.  Only  a  few 
moments  could  she  remain  in  the  same 
position,  and  except  when  she  would  for 
a  little  apparently  lose  herself  in  sleep,  she 
was  almost  incessantly  calling  upon  those 
around  her,  to  be  moved  to  some  other 
place  or  in  some  other  way. 

On  Wednesday  she  was  more  composed, 
but  it  was  evidently  the  result  of  exhaus- 
tion, and  the  sinking  of  the  powers  of  na- 
ture. At  family  prayer  in  the  morning, 
when  her  father  began  to  read,  she  opened 
her  eyes,  and  kept  them  steadily  fixed  upon 
him  durino:  the  whole  of  the  worship,  but 


LAST    SCENES   OF   LIFE. 


115 


3  be 
•ugh 

3rsa- 
jized 
and 
Lonal 
onal, 
3r  of 

.rked 
tless- 
i  few 
same 
d  for 
p5  she 
those 
other 

)osed, 
ihaiis- 
)f  na- 
ming, 
pened 
I  upon 
p,  but 


generally  she  remained  with  her  eyes 
closed,  uttering  frequently  a  cry  of  dis- 
tress, but  being  quite  unable  in  language 
to  express  her  feelings.  At  times  during 
the  day  she  would  glance  upward  and 
around,  while  her  eyes,  expanded  to  their 
utmost  dimensions,  assumed  an  almost  in- 
tense luster  and  beauty,  and  were  lighted 
up  by  an  indescribable  and  unearthly  ex- 
pression. In  the  afternoon  it  was  thought 
she  was  going,  and  the  family,  and  one  or 
two  of  the  numerous  friends  who  had 
shown  great  kindness  and  attention  dur- 
ing her  illness,  assembled  round  her  bed 
to  view  the  closing  scene ;  but  after  a  time 
she  again  revived. 

Almost  the  whole  of  Thursday,  Margaret 
lay  apparently  unconscious,  breathing  hard, 
and  at  long  intervals  moaning  faintly,  or 
uttering  a  plaintive  cry.  Once  she  ex- 
panded her  e;^es,  as  on  the  previous  day, 
and  while  looking  upward,  extended  her 
hands,  exclaiming,  "  Come !  come !"  Late 
in  the  afternoon,  while  her  father  was 
standing  by  her  bedside,  he  said,  "My 
dearest,  do  you  know  me  ?"     She  gently 


^ 


\ 


•A 


116 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


inclined  her  head  to  him,  and  whispered, 
"Dear  fa—"  but  could  not  finish  the 
word.  These  were  her  last  articulate 
sounds,  yet  at  times  she  appeared  conscious ; 
once  especially,  while  Her  aunt  was  repeat- 
ing the  lines, 

«*  0  change  !  0  wondrous  change ! 

Burst  are  the  prison  bars ! 
This  moment  here  so  low, 
So  agonized,  and  now 

Beyond  the  stars !" 

she  suddenly  aroused,  and  fixing  her  eyes 
on  her  aunt,  appeared  to  listen  with  the 
utmost  interest.     Time  passed  on ;  the  in- 
tervals of  silence  became  longer  and  longer ; 
at  eleven  P.  M.  all  retired  to  rest,  except 
the  two  watchers  and  Mrs.  Des  Brisay,  who, 
during  the  last  four  days  and  nights,  had 
hardly  for  an  instant  taken  her  eyes  from 
her  daughter's  face,  knowing  that  at  any 
moment  she  was  liable  to  pass  away.     At 
twelve  M.  a  change  came  over  her ;  her 
breathing  became  extremely  laborious,  and 
tlie  difficulty  of  expectorating  the  mucus 
rising  in  the  throat,  producing  that  appall- 
ing sound  commonly  denominated  rattles. 


LAST   SCENES   OF  LIFE. 


117 


This  difficulty,  in  ordinary  circumstances, 
increases  until  suflbcation  ensues.  The 
idea  of  this  was  to  her  parents  peculiarly 
painful,  and  after  the  expiration  of  about 
fifteen  minutes,  they  both,  in  an  ecstasy  of 
grief,  cast  themselves  on  the  mercy  and 
faithfulness  of  God,  entreating  that  he 
would  not  add  this  one  bitter  drop  to  their 
cup  of  affliction,  which  already  seemed 
full  to  overflowing.  To  the  sui-prise  of 
all,  after  a  little,  this  distressing  symptom 
began  to  subside,  the  sounds  became  fainter 
and  fainter,  and  at  length  entirely  ceased, 
and  for  some  time  she  breathed  quite  easily. 
About  half  past  one  A.  M.  she  was  lyinj? 
with  her  eyes  open,  when,  raising  and  ex- 
panding them,  with  an  expression  of  sweet 
solemnity  and  surprise,  she  commenced 
looking  upward  and  around,  as  if  watching 
some  particular  obj  ect.  This  was  repeated 
three  times,  and  then  an  expression  of  per- 
fect infantile  innocence  and  peace  settled 
down  upon  her  countenance,  and  continued 
for  about  two  minutes,  and  she  was  gone. 
So  gently  did  her  spirit  quit  its  clay 
tabernacle,  tliat  the  exact  moment  of  its 


i: 


118 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


transit  was  not  known.  Thus  passed  from 
earth  away,  a  being  as  sweet  and  gentle, 
and  in  all  respects  of  as  lovely  a  character, 
as  perhaps  was  ever  permitted  for  a  few 
brief  years  to  sojourn  in  this  world  of 
sin  and  sorrow.  She  died  April  13, 1855, 
aged  19  years. 


TRAITS   OF  CHARACTER. 


119 


CHAPTER  VI. 


TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER. 

In  closing  this  memoir,  some  no  dee  of  the 
more  prominent  traits  of  Margaret's  char- 
acter may  not  be  unnecessary.  The  first 
and  most  important  that  shall  be  mention- 
ed is  her  deep  and  devoted  piety.  This 
was  altogether  of  an  unobtrusive  kind. 
Though  she  delighted  in  pious  conversa- 
tion, and  with  her  intimate  friends,  and  on 
all  proper  occasions,  was  ever  ready  to 
engage  in  it,  yet  her  devotedness  to  God 
manifested  itself,  not  so  much  in  words,  as 
in  the  whole  tone  of  her  spirit,  temper, 
habits,  and  general  conduct.  She  carried 
her  religion  out  into  all  the  minutiae  of 
daily  life,  and  made  it  her  governing  prin- 
ciple through  all  her  career.  Deep-seated 
within  her  own  breast,  its  clear  and  equa- 
ble stream,  supplied  from  the  great  Fount- 
ain, flowed  silent  but  unexhausted,  too 
profound  to  exhibit  on  its  surface   any 


120 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


I 


considerable  fluctuations,  either  of  eleva- 
tion or  depression.     But  the  intensity  of 
its  power  was  proved   by  the  action  to 
which  it  impelled.     Imparting  an  unflag- 
o-ing  energy  and  perseverance,  it  led  her 
to  seize,  with  eagerness,  upon  the  passing 
events  and  interesting  occurrences  of  the 
day,  v:hether  in  public  or  private  life,  not 
only  for  her  own  spiritual  improvement, 
but  also  with  the  hope  of  exciting  in  other 
youthful  minds  serious  thoughts  and  profit- 
kble  reflections.     "  I  think  something  use- 
ful might  be  made  of  that,"  she  would 
say,  on  being  made  acquainted  with  any 
uncommon  fact  or  striking  circumstance, 
and  her  eye  would  kindle  with  a  sacred 
enthusiasm.    The  purity  of  her  motives, 
while  pursuing  such  a  course,  was  tested 
and   proved;   strong  inducements,   in   a 
pecuniary  point  of  view,  having  been  held 
out  to  her  on  different  occasions,  would 
she  but  turn  her  attention  to  writing  in  a 
humorous  and  amusing  style,  suited  to  the 
popular  taste.     Though,  from  some  early 
specimens  of  this  kind,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  she  might  have  excelled  in  this 


TRAITS   OF   CHARACTER. 


121 


[eva- 

y  of 

n  to 

flag- 

I  her 

ssing 

e  the 

I,  not 

nent, 

other 

irofit- 

^  nse- 

iTould 

L  any 

iance, 

acred 

tives, 

bested 

in  a 
I  held 
fv^ould 
;  in  a 
to  the 

early 
)  little 
n  this 


species  of  composition,  yet  these  offers  she 
unhesitatingly  declined.     As  if  with  a  pro- 
phetic eye,  she  had  foreseen  how  brief  was 
to  be  her  career  on  earth,  how  limited  the 
period  allotted  her  for  action,  her  mind 
could  dwell  only  on  one  lofty  theme,  and 
direct  all  its  energies  to  one  great  object 
only.     To  the  rightly  judging  mind,  there 
must  be  something  unspeakably  affecting 
in  this  consecration  of  youthful  talent  to 
God,  this  turning  away  from  worldly  ap- 
proval and  reward,  for  the  one  purpose  of 
contributing,  however  feebly,  to  the  promo- 
tion of  the  spiritual  good  of  others.     How 
touching,  also,  to  notice  in  her  effusions, 
her   frequent    allusions   to    death,    early 
death,  and  the  ardent  and   spontaneous 
gushings  forth  of  her  heart  after  heaven, 
"  that  land  of  the  weary,  that  home  of  the 
blessed !"  Surely,  if  there  are  beings  on  this 
earth,  akin  to  angelic  natures,  and  whose 
hallowed  tastes  and  sympathies  hnk  them- 
selves by  the  strongest  of  all  ties  to  the 
"  family  in  heaven,"  Margaret  was  among 
the  number. 
Her  piety  was  also  evinced,  as  well  as 


\p 


tl    i.  £t 


■!<t       1 


H 


122  MAKGABET  ELIZABETH. 

xnaintained,  by  a  faithful  attendance  on 
the  ordinances  of  religion,  especially  on 
that  one,  heart-searching   in   its  nature, 
from  which  the  lukewarm   professor  is 
glad  to  find  an  excuse  for  absenting  him- 
self,  the   class-meeting.    Never  did  she 
fail  to  be  present  there  when  it  was  in  her 
power  to  attend,  and  all  her  employments 
were  arranged,  as  far  as  possible,  in  refer- 
ence to  that  event.    Like  all  others,  also, 
who  have  made  any  considerable  spiritual 
attainments,  she  was  conscientiously  sys- 
tematical and  punctual  in  her  attention  to 
the  duties  of  the  closet.      Nothing  but 
absolute  necessity  ever  led  her  to  abridge 
the  time  allotted  by  her  to  that  purpose. 
Even  when  detained  from  her  bed  by  ill- 
ness in  the    family,  until    perhaps  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  she  would  not 
then,  fatigued  and  exhausted  as  she  ot 
course  would  be,  retire  to  rest  until  she 
had  spent  her  usual  period  in  private  de- 
votion.    To  the  duty  of  self-exammation 
she   regularly  attended,   and   her   little 
manual  of  questions  bears  evidence  m 
pencil  marks  to  what  constant  use  it  was 


( 
( 

t 
r 


TKAIT8   OF   CUARAOTER. 


123 


3  on 


(  on 
bure, 
)r  is 
him- 

she 
1  her 
aents 
[*efer- 

also, 
ritual 
r  sys- 
on  to 
T  but 
iridge 
rpose. 
oy  ill- 

3    two 

d  not 
she  of 
il  she 
ite  de- 
nation 
little 
ice  in 
it  was 


applied.  We  have  before  spoken  of  her 
study  of  the  sacred  volume,  but  we  can 
give  but  a  feeble  idea  of  how  profound 
her  love  and  reverence  for  it  had  become. 
During  the  last  few  years  of  her  life,  she 
searched  into  its  pages  as  for  "hidden 
treasures."  The  Bible  which  she  com- 
monly used  is,  indeed,  quite  a  curiosity  to 
behold,  the  leaves  from  Genesis  to  Eevela- 
tion  being  marked  and  turned  down  in  a 
variety,  of  ways,  which  she  alone  under- 
stood, but  showing  evidently  the  deepest 
study  and  research. 

Another  virtue  for  which  Margaret  was 
remarkable  was  filial  piety.  From  her 
most  tender  years,  duty  to  her  parents 
was  the  guiding  star  which  she  implicitly 
followed,  in  all  her  actions  and  move- 
merits.  She  was  early  brought  into  such 
habits  of  obedience,  that  a  command  had 
only  to  be  issued  to  be  immediately 
obeyed ;  and  the  ideas  of  the  sacredness 
of  the  filial  obligation  which  she  then 
acquired,  and  ever  after  retained,  were  of 
tlie  most  exalted  character.  Of  her  it 
may  with  truth  be  affirmed,  that  never, 


^:^i 


i^:) 


i-  f 


124: 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


during  the  whole  period  of  her  life,  did 
she   willingly   displease  her   parents,   or 
manifest  toward  them,  by  word  or  look, 
any  feeling  inconsistent  with  deep   love 
and  reverence.     From  childhood,  also,  it 
constituted  her  highest  delight  to  antici- 
pate their  wishes,  and  sacrifice  her  own 
ease,  comfort,  or  inclination,  to  contribute 
in  any  degree  to  their  gratification.     It  is 
recollected  her  coming  into  her  mother's 
room,  when  but  a  Uttle  girl,  fully  equipped 
to  go  forth  to  her  garden,  and  in  the  highest 
spirits  at  the  idea  of  attending  to  her  favor- 
ite recreation.     After  receiving  her  direc- 
tions and  getting  as  far  as  the  door,  she 
has   looked   back    toward    the    sofa,   on 
which  her  mother  was  reclining,  and  ob- 
serving that  she  was  alone,  has  stopped  and 
said,  "O,  mamma,  you  look  so  lonely;  do 
let  me  stay  and  read  to  you,  will  you  not?" 
and  to  the  objections  of  her  mother  she 
has  replied  with   entreaties  so  numerous 
and  urgent,   as   sometimes   to   gain   her 
request,    when   she   has    laid   aside  ^  her 
bonnet,  and  taken  her  seat  with  an  air  as 
if  the  dearest  wish  of  her  heart  was  grati- 


TBAITS   OF   CHAEACTEE. 


125 


did 
I  or 
ook, 
love 

0,  it 
itici- 
own 
bute 
It  is 
her's 
pped 
2:liest 
avor- 
iirec- 
[»,  she 

1,  on 
dob- 
dand 
y;  do 
not?" 
ir  she 
lerous 
a  her 
e   her 
air  as 
grati- 


fied. Eepeatedly  has  this  been  the  case ; 
and  all  through  her  life  such  instances  as 
these,  of  thoughtfulness  and  kindness, 
were  daily  occurring.  Never  was  daugh- 
ter, indeed,  more  warmly  and  tenderly- 
attached  to  parents  than  she,  while  her 
afiection  knew  nothing 

"Of  the  breaks 
Whicli  humor  interposed,  too  often  makes." 

Always  standing  ready  to  receive  and 
obey  the  least  intimation  of  their  will, 
love  made  her 

**  Willing  feet      • 
In  swift  obedience  move." 

Whatever  might  be  her  employment,  a 
summons  from  her  father  or  mother  never 
failed  instantly  to  bring  her.  Even  when 
she  has  been  in  her  own  apartment  dress- 
ing, and  her  attire  not  fully  completed,  a 
call  from  her  father  was  always  answered 
by,  "Yes,  papa;  I  am  coming,"  while  hast- 
ily throwing  a  shawl  or  a  cloak  around 
her,  she  would  spring  to  him  without  a 
moment's  delay.  It  was  while  observing 
these  and  similar  acts  of  filial  respect,  that 


126 


MARaARET  ELIZABETH. 


i4.? 


i  •! 


U  ..    i  L 


it  has  often  been  remarked,  "  Well,  surely 
a  blessing  must  rest  upon  Margaret ;  she 
is  so  uncommonly  dutiful  to  her  parents." 
We  may  further  mention  as  a  sure  proof 
of  her  being  a  good  daughter,  the  confi- 
dential terms  ever  subsisting  between  her 
and  her   mother.     As   she   grew   up   to 
maturity,  the  bond  of  sympathy  and  com- 
panionship between  them  became  more 
endearing  and  intimate.     From  this,  her 
best  and  dearest  of  friends,  she  had  no 
concealments,  but  unhesitatingly,  and  in  a 
manner  not  used  toward  any  other  person, 
confided  to  her  every  feeling  and  senti- 
ment of  her  heart. 

Margaret  was  distinguished  for  great 
purity  of  7mnd,  It  is  believed  no  person 
that  had  attained  her  age  ever  left  the 
world  more  pure  from  actual  sin  than 
she,  or  more  ignorant  of  evil.  Her  mind 
seemed  instinctively  as  well  as  conscien- 
tiously to  turn  with  disgust  from  all  that 
was  gross  or  low,  while  it  delighted  to 
expatiate  amid  sweet  and  lovely  images, 
poetic  thoughts,  and  noble  and  inspiring 
themes.     Her  imagination,   refined   and 


TRAITS   OF  CHARACTER. 


127 


sanctified  by  religion,  was  ever  led  to 
select  for  contemplation  the  pure,  the 
beautiful,  and  the  spiritual ;  and  being 
possessed  of  the  touchstone  of  right  feel- 
ing and  delicate  perception,  she  was  ena- 
bled, amid  the  bright  and  the  specious, 
to  distinguish  without  difficulty  the  pure 
gold  from  the  baser  metal.  In  books,  as 
well  as  in  conversation,  she  avoided  with 
extreme  scrupulousness  everything  that 
would  have  a  tendency  to  sully  the  deli- 
cacy of  her  mind,  making  it  her  constant 
aim  that  all  her  intellectual  associations 
should  call  up  only  what  was  profitable, 
elevating,  and  hallowed. 

Her  manners  and  conduct  were  marked 
by  a  great  degree  oi  propriety.  Perhaps 
if  there  was  any  one  of  her  mental  quali- 
ties more  conspicuous  than  another,  it  was 
that  of  good  common  sense,  which  guided 
her  in  her  outward  behavior,  and  afforded 
her,  as  if  by  intuition,  a  knowledge  of  what 
was  proper  to  be  said  and  done  on  each 
occasion  of  everyday  life.  Thus  she  was 
preserved  from  indiscretions  in  action,  fool- 
ish and  ill-timed  speeches,  and  other  im- 


128 


MAKGARET   ELIZABETH. 


f';     II 


prudences,  too  common  with  many  of  her 
age.     Though   she   could  converse  most 
easily  and  agreeably,  yet  it  was  of  things 
rather  than  of  persons  that  she  spoke,  and 
ever  careful  was  she  not  to  obtrude  herself 
or  her  own  petty  concerns,  on  the  notice  of 
others.     Self,  indeed,  was  always  kept  by 
her  in  the  shade.     She  was  unaffectedly 
humble,  and  proved  that  she  was  so  by 
never  mentioning  or  even  alluding  to  her- 
self, when  she  could  possibly  avoid  it.    Her 
prudence,  also,  was  so  great,  that  a  subject 
might  safely  be  canvassed  in  her  presence 
without  any  injunction  being  imposed  upon 
her  as  to  her  silence  ;  her  own  judgment 
never  failing  to  direct  her  to  this  course, 
when  it  was  at  all  necessary.    Her  general 
.  sobriety  of  mind  and  self-command  were 
the  more  remarkable,  from  the  fact  that 
she  was  naturally  enthusiastic,  excitable, 
and  imaginative ;  of  exactly  the  temper- 
ament, in  short,  to  have  made,  in  many 
cases,  a  thorough  novel-reading  miss,  full 
of  sentimentality   and  romance,  swayed 
by  impulse,  and  living  too  entirely  in  an 
ideal  world  to  be  capable  of  fulfilling  the 


TRAITS   OF  CHARACTER. 


129 


i 


duties  connected  witli  the  real  world  of 
which  she  was  an  inhabitant.  In  Marga- 
ret's case,  her  own  counteracting  qualities, 
combined  with  the  judicious  course  uni- 
formly pursued  in  her  education,  had  re- 
sulted in  her  being  the  very  opposite  of 
the  character  here  alluded  to.  Her  sound 
sense,  and  clear,  discriminating  judgment, 
infused  so  much  of  the  sober  and  practical 
into  her  mental  constitution,  as  to  induce 
not  only  a  perfect  propriety  of  manners 
and  general  conduct,  but  a  healthy  tone 
and  equilibrium  of  mind. 

Affection^  generosity^  and  hindness  were 
among  the  most  conspicuous  of  Margaret's 
traits.  These  were  particularly  manifest- 
ed toward  those  to  whom  she  was  united 
by  the  strong  ties  of  consanguinity.  To 
her  brothers  she  was  fondly  and  ardently 
attached,  and  in  the  relation  she  sustained 
to  them,  manifested  the  same  disinterest- 
edness, self-sacrifice,  and  devotedness  whicli 
distinguished  her  as  a  daughter.  To  all  the 
members  of  her  household,  whether  nearly 
or  more  distantly  related,  or  merely  resi- 
ding in  the  family,  she  was  invariably 


130 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


affectionate,  kind,  and  obliging  ;  and,  as  a 
consequence  of  this,  all  united  in  loving 
her  and   acknowledging  her   excellence. 
Indeed,  it  was  only  in  her  own  domestic 
circle,  where  she  was  best  known,  and 
where  her  amiability,  and  her  pure  and 
genuine  goodness  appeared  in  their  true 
light,  that  she  could  be  fully  appreciated. 
To  strangers,  or  those  but  slightly  acquaint- 
ed with  her,  her  manners  might  wear  the 
appearance  of  reserve  and  distance ;  but  in 
her  own  home,  where  all  formal  restraint 
was  removed,  not  only  were  her  estimable 
qualities  revealed,  but  an  innocent  play- 
fulness of  disposition  and  chastened  humor 
were  exhibited,  which  made  her  one  of  the 
most  agreeable  of  companions.    Her  wish 
to  oblige  was  carried  to  such  a  length, 
that  it  was  almost  impossible  for  her  to 
reply  in  the  negative  when  a  favor  was 
requested  of  her.     "  Yes,  certainly,"  was 
the  answer  ever  ready  to  rise  to  her  lips, 
while  the  trouble  and  inconvenience  that 
might  result  to  herself  in  fulfilling  her 
promise,  seemed  to  dwindle  into  nothing- 
ness before  the  wish  to  accommodate  others. 


TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER. 


131 


But  though  of  a  disposition  so  thor- 
oughly obliging,  where  duty  was  concern- 
ed she  evinced  the  most  unbending  finri' 
ness.  Instances  have  occurred  in  which 
she  has  been  strongly  solicited  to  a  line  of 
conduct  which,  though  avowedly  for  a 
praiseworthy  object,  and  not  really  sinful, 
was  yet  decidedly  imprudent.  In  such 
cases,  the  most  urgent  entreaties  had  no 
eiFect  whatever  in  inducing  her  to  pursue 
a  course  which  her  judgment  condemned, 
and  of  which  she  had  reason  to  believe 
her  mother  would  not  approve. 

It  has  thus  been  attempted,  in  the  fore- 
going pages,  to  give  a  faithful  delineation 
of  Margaret's  character.  More  might  have 
been  made  of  the  subject  than  has  been 
done,  as  it  has  been  the  aim  to  keep  far 
within  the  bounds  of  "truth  and  sober- 
ness," and  to  avoid  as  much  as  possible 
even  the  appearance  of  exaggeration  and 
embellishment.  To  such  as  may  be  dis- 
posed to  inquire,  "  Had  she  no  faults,  and 
if  so,  what  were  they  ?"  it  may  be  replied, 
that  naturally,  like  others,  she  was  a  fallen 
creature,  and  though  changed  by  Divine 


> 


;il 


132 


MAROAEET  ELIZABETH. 


Hi 


grace,   yet,  doubtless,  in   examining  her 
heart  and  life  by  that  all-pure  and  perfect 
law  of  God,  she  found  daily  cause  for 
deep     self-abasement     and     humiliation. 
"With    respect,    however,    to   her  fellow- 
beings,  those  who  knew  her  best,  after 
carefully  observing  her  whole  spirit  and 
conduct,  in  all  the  varying  circumstances 
of  her  domestic  and  social  life,  have  failed 
to  discover  anything  essentially  wrong  in 
her    governing    motives,    disposition,    or 
habits.    While,  therefore,  it  is  not  attempt- 
ed to  represent  her   as   faultless,  it  can 
with  truth  be  affirmed  that  she  was  re- 
markably   free    from    the    imperfections 
peculiar   to    youth,    while   in  her   were 
united  so  many  and  rare  excellences  and 
endowments,  as  to  produce,  on  the  whole, 
a  beautiful  symmetry  of  character   but 
seldom  equaled. 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


SELECTIONS  FROM   HER    WRITINGS. 


f  o^trg. 


4    ft 


"•mmm 


^^g^^^^fm-mMf^-^ 


li 


^ 


I 


n 


mmm 


wmm 


Nearly  all  of  the  following  articles,  both  in  Poetry 
and  Prose,  were  contributed,  under  the  signature  of 
"Bessie  Beranger,"  to  "The  Provincial  Wesleyan," 
published  at  Halifax,  Nova  Scotia.  The  incidents  re- 
ferred to  in  them  were  not  imaginary,  but  were  scenes 
from  real  life. 


Ill 


i 


A  CRY  TO  THE  MISSIONARY. 


oetry 
re  of 
yan," 
ts  re- 
icenes 


Suggested  by  reading  the  Kev.  Mr.  Arthur's  Speech,  delivered  at 
the  Leeds  Missionary  Meeting. 

WRITTEN   AT  THE  AGE  OF  THIRTEEN. 

By  the  Ganges'  sacred  stream, 
By  the  fiercely  dark'ning  gleam 
That  lights  the  Hindoo  mother's  eye, 
As  she  drowns  her  infant's  cry ; 
By  the  Kyonng's  tow'ring  heights, 
By  Gaudama's  bloody  rites, 
By  that  gorgeous  rolling  car, 
By  that  music  heard  afar. 

Come  to  as,  come. 

By  that  Gueber  bending  low. 
On  those  hills  of  stainless  snow. 
As  his  fervent  matin  prayer, 
Floateth  sweetly  on  the  air ; 
As  he  owns  the  mighty  sway 
Of  the  glorious  orb  of  day ; 
As  in  silent  awe  he  bows 
Where  that  flame  mysterious  glows, 
Oome  to  us,  come. 

Where  the  lofty  palm  doth  wave, 
By  that  warrior-chieftain's  gave  ; 


If  (i 


136  MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 

By  the  marai's  sacred  shade, 
"Where  it  openeth  through  the  glade ; 
By  that  stifled,  waihng  cry, 
Rising  hourly  to  the  sky, 
Where  lie  beneath  the  purple  sand, 
The  victims  of  a  parent's  hand, 
Come  to  us,  come. 

Where  the  deeply  crimson'd  wave 
Erromanga's  shore  doth  Uve; 
By  those  dark  abodes  of  vice. 
By  the  nameless,  matchless  price, 
Of  spirits  hastening  on  in  crime ; 
By  the  priceless  worth  of  time, 
By  that  deep,  heart-rending  call, 
Borne  upon  the  wave  from  all. 

Come  to  us,  come. 

Where  the  surging  ocean  wave 
Circleth  round  the  martyr's  grave ; 
By  the  deathless  love  they  bore, 
They  who  lie  on  Feejee's  shore; 
By  the  shade  of  Hunt  we  call, 
Hear  us,  save  us,  ere  we  fall ; 
Ere  expires  that  ghmmering  light, 
And  we  sink  in  endless  night. 

Come  to  us,  come. 


I 


1  *' 

1 


TO  THE  MOON. 


137 


TO  THE   MOON. 

Thou  art  floating  on  with  a  brow  of  light, 

In  the  depths  of  the  vaulted  sky ; 
Thou  art  gazing  down  with  a  smile  too  bright, 

Too  fair  for  mortal  eve. 

Thou  art  lighting  the  waves  of  the  dark  blue  sea, 
When  the  evening  star  shines  bright ; 

And  they  whisper  murmuring  music  to  thee 
As  they  sleep  in  the  silver  light. 

Thou  art  sleeping  in  many  a  palmy  glade, 

*'  On  some  green  Southern  shore ;" 
Thou  art  quiveriag  deep  in  the  vine's  dark  shade, 

"  In  the  hush  of  this  midnight  hour." 

Thou  art  piercing  down  from  the  azure  sky, 

In  the  convict's  darken'd  cell. 
Where  smitten  ones  are  call'd  forth  to  die 

By  the  note  of  the  passing  bell. 

Thou  art  stirring  the  depths  of  the  mariner's  soul. 

Where  Adria's  waters  foam  ; 
Thou  art  bidding-  him  think,  as  they  proudly  roll. 

Of  his  own  fail  cottage  home. 

Thou  art  lighting  that  lonely  rock  of  the  deep, 
Where  the  warrior's  dust  hath  laid; 

Where  the  fearless,  the  true-hearted  came  to  sleep, 
Far  off  in  the  forest  glade. 


li^^ 


138 


MARGARET   ELIZABETU. 


Thou  art  pouring  thy  rays  on  Albion's  shores, 
Bless'd  land  of  the  brave  and  the  free; 

Thou  art  bathing  in  glory  her  ruins  and  towers, 
And  wreathing  each  leaflet  and  tree. 

But  ah !  thou  art  lighting  my  own  green  land, 
This  land  of  the  mountain  and  flood ; 

Thou  art  tinging  the  pine  on  the  billowy  strand 
"  Where  the  forest  for  ages  hath  stood." 


A  LITTLE  WHILE. 

A  little  while,  a  little  while, 

Mourner!  thy  grief  shall  be, 
Yet  upward  raise  thy  tearful  eye, 

Heaven  yet  hath  joy  for  thee. 
O !  earth  hath  not  a  shadowy  path, 

"Where  sorrow  leaves  a  trace, 
But  Hope,  with  her  fair  sunny  wing, 

May  find  a  resting-place. 

A  little  while,  a  little  while, 

And  time's  sad  minstrelsy. 
Shall  merge  in  the  deep,  rapturous  tones. 

That  fill  eternity. 
The  notes  of  that  dark  ^<fovd--farewcU, 

Shall  never,  never  more. 
In  their  chill  voice  of  withering  grief, 

Swell  on  the  eternal  shore. 


bA 


TO   MY   BKOTHBK. 
A  little  while,  a  little  while 


141 


■th, 


^^^^  „ _  bands 

Shall  meet  aromid  their  Father's  throne, 

As  round  a  household  hearth. 
Joy  shall  be  on  thy  pathway  there. 

And  mid  that  glittering  host, 

Thy  spirit  shall  discern  and  greet, 
The  early  loved  and  lost. 
November  11, 1852. 


. 


TO  MY   BROTHER. 

The  stars  are  stealing,  one  by  one, 

Into  the  clear,  blue  sky. 
And  beauty  sleeps  on  every  leaf, 

Beneath  the  gazer's  eye. 
And  sadly  come  the  thoughts  to-night, 

Of  days  long  since  gone  by. 
Like  music  o'er  the  moonlit  waves. 

Like  distant  melody. 

rm  thinking  of  the  hours  to-night, 

When  thou  wert  by  my  side, 
When  pleasure  shed  her  golden  light, 

Upon  life's  troubled  tide. 
And  brightly  on  the  wave  of  time, 

Fond  memories  appear, 
Each  well-remember'd  voice  of  love. 

That  gladden'd  then  my  ear. 


|h 


i    ii 


142 


MAKGARKT   ELIZABETH. 


Sad  Memory  plumes  her  w'mgs  to-night, 

And  brings  before  mine  eye 
The  past,  the  dark  and  buried  past, 

"With  all  its  life  of  joy. 
O !  never  may  those  hours  return ; 

Yet,  Father,  through  thy  care, 
When  life's  dim  pageantry  is  o'er, 

"VYe  meet  where  all  is  fair. 
October  30,  1862. 


TO  A  ROSEBUD  IN  MARCH. 

Beautiful  memories  of  the  summer  time, 

Bring'st  thou  on  thy  tiny,  crimson  wing. 
Thoughts  of  a  far-off,  sunny,  soutliern  clime, 
Where  the  first  pure,  young  flowers  are  blossom- 
ing- 
Thoughts  of  the  absent  loved,  thou  bring'st  with 
thee, 
Who  from  the  ancient  hearthstone  sadly  roam ; 
They  are  afar,  and  time,  and  grief,  and  change, 
Wave  their  dark  pinions  o'er  their  childhood's 
home. 

But  brighter  visions  link  themselves  with  thee, 
O !  fairest  floAver  on  Time's  dark,  blighted  shore ; 

Dreams  of  a  world  too  high,  too  pure  for  change, 
Where  the  stern  spoiler's  voice  is  heard  no  more. 


''i^f^^fSdi^^SM 


THE  WTMTER   WIND. 


143 


Speak  to  me  tlius,  for  in  tliy  chasteuVl  bloom 
The  EternaFs  glorious  tracery  I  see; 

Thou  whisperest  to  the  trembling  spirit— faith, 
And  trusting,  hope  in  Him  who  fashion'd  thee. 
March  17, 1853. 


f  >■ 


■♦— 


THE   WINTER   WIND. 

It  sweeps  o'er  the  graves  of  the  early  dead, 
Telling  of  joys  that  have  long  since  fled ; 
Of  the  smile  of  T  ht  and  the  loving  tone, 
That  now  the  embrace  of  the  tomb  hath  won. 

It  sighs  where  in  summer  the  sunbeams  play, 
Flinging  their  banner  o'er  leaf  and  spray ; 
Where  now  the  cold  footsteps  of  winter  hath  pass'd, 
And  the  blossoms  have  died  at  the  breath  of  the 
blast. 

It  moans  on  that  desolate  sea-beaten  strand, 
Where  the  warrior  dreams  of  his  native  land ; 
It  awakens  some  chord  in  his  aching  breast. 
That  home-voices  alone  may  soothe  to  rest. 

But  there  is  a  land,  where  no  midnight  blast 
Shall  rouse  a  tone  of  the  vanished  past; 
And  the  fond,  yearning  spirit  forever  hath  rest, 
In  that  home  of  the  weary,  that  land  of  the  blest. 
February  M^'i^^*^. 


iil 


f 


i  i  II  Li 


:i 


144 


MAKGARET  ELIZABETH. 


BIRTH-DAY  STANZAS. 


Ay  I  'tis  a  festal  day,  and  holy  thought, 
In  her  own  countless,  hidden  cells  awaking, 

From  the  young  spirit's  fresh  and  fragrant  treasures, 
And  bright  and  gushing  founts  the  seal  is  break- 
ing; 

An  hour  of  sacred  promise,  fair  and  high, 

Whose  tc'.es  shall  echo  through  eternity. 

Youth's  brilliant  flush  is  on  thy  brow,  and  hope, 
With  changeful,  glowing  light,  hath  lit  thine  eye; 

Life's  spirit-witching  dreams  are  all  before  thee. 
Undying,  glorious  hopes  that  live  on  high ; 

Thine  is  a  stainless  banner;  spread  it  free. 

Till  the  red  cross  shall  wave  o'er  land  and  sea ! 

0 !  we  are  sadly  parted  yet  to-day ; 

As  the  full,  solemn  Sabbath  chimes  ascend, 
I  would  not  win  thee  to  thy  home ;  for  life, 

The  sunlight  with  the  shade  doth  ever  blend ; 
And  life  were  bitterness  without  the  smile 
Of  him,  who  can  the  wanderer's  hours  beguile. 

Gird,  then,  thine  armor  on,  and  may  the  joy. 
Which  Heaven  alone  doth  give,  be  ever  thine ; 

The  joy  to  toil  for  gems  of  priceless  worth, 
Around  the  everlasting  throne  to  shine. 

Earth  hath  no  purer,  holier  gift  for  thee ; 

Heaven  hath  no  higher,  nobler  victory. 
Jvril  17.  1853. 


TO  A  FRIEND  ON   HEU  MARRIAGE.      145 


e; 


TO  A  FRIEND  ON  HER  MARRIAGE. 

I  had  not  thought  to  leave  thee  thus, 
Ere  the  hridal  wreath  was  thine, 

And  thy  heart's  deep,  fervent  homage. 
Placed  on  another  shrine. 

Yet  God's  hlessing  be  upon  thee ! 

O !  fair  and  gentle  friend, 
Though  together  the  glad  moments 

We  never  more  may  spend. 

And  though  through  life's  dim  pathway 

We  yet  may  parted  be, 
He  whose  love  may  never  falter, 

Shall  guide  and  cherish  thee. 

May  his  joy  be  ever  with  thee ; 

Thy  spirit  be  his  home ; 
So  shall  no  deep'ning  shadow. 

O'er  the  heart's  bright  visions  come. 

Then  when  life's  wild  dream  is  over, 
We  may  bow  to  his  behest. 

And  meet  around  our  Father's  throne. 
Where  the  weary  are  at  rest. 


ill 


n 


ff 


ft 


146 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


ii:: 


I:   3 

a. 


■       Si 


I'S 


' 


1^ 


TO   MY  MOTHER. 

Vm  thinking  of  thee  now,  mother, 

As  the  quiet  evening  hglit 
Falls  lovingly  on  spire  and  tower, 

And  all  around  is  bright. 
r  would  that  I  could  twine  to-night, 

A  garland  fresh  and  fair, 
To  wreathe  around  the  aching  brow, 

And  rest  in  gladness  there. 

If  I  were  only  by  thy  side. 

As  in  the  hours  of  yore. 
When  "  softly  fell  the  foot  of  time," 

Then  hope  might  claim  no  more. 
Yet  0  !  though  sadly  time  and  space 

Have  sever'd  us  afar. 
May  the  love  of  Him  who  changeth  not^ 

Still  be  thy  guiding  star. 

May  his  Spirit  e'er  be  with  thee. 

Through  life's  dark,  changeful  day. 
Till  from  its  toil  and  feverish  strife, 

Thou  shalt  have  'scaped  away. 
God's  blessing  be  upon  thee, 

Whose  hope  is  all  in  heaven, 
Till  the  spirit's  wing  is  plumed  for  flight. 

And  the  earthly  fetters  riven. 


■: 


a 


THE  DEATH  OF  MOSES. 


147 


THE  DEATH  OF  MOSES. 

There  wrfs  a  sound  upon  '  l^o  breeze 

Of  mourning  and  of  woe, 
But  not  as  when,  on  battle-field, 

Relentless  foe  meets  foe. 
It  was  the  wall  of  stricken  ones, 

For  the  true  heart  and  tlie  brave, 
For  liim,  whose  treasured  hopes  and  high. 

Were  gather'd  to  the  grave. 

He  stood  upon  the  mountain-top, 

A  light  was  in  his  eye, 
A  light  of  glory  and  of  love, 

A  light  of  majesty. 
O  Israel !  he  cried  aloud. 

How  sure  is  thy  defense  I 
The  Eternal  shall  thy  portion  be. 

Thy  guard,  Omnipotence. 

He  paused,  and  on  the  plain  beneath 

One  lingering  look  he  bent. 
Where  flash'd,  in  the  broad  sunlight's  glance, 

Each  snowy,  glittering  tent. 
There  Israel's  countless  thousands  lay, 

Beneath  the  mountain  brow ; 
There  were  his  loved  and  cherish'd  ones ; 

How  can  he  leave  them  now  ? 


'i  1, 


I 


148  MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 

The  flush  hath  left  the  warrior's  cheek, 

The  storm  hath  pass'd  away ; 
He  look'd  one  lingering,  deep  farewell, 

Then  left  their  bright  array. 
There  was  no  shade  upon  his  brow, 

1^0  dimness  in  his  eye ; 
Alone  with  the  Eternal  One, 

He  laid  him  down  to  die. 
November  21,  1853. 


^|; 


A  VALENTINE  TO  MY  BROTHER. 

A  fair,  but  fleeting  wreath  for  thee, 

A  sister's  hand  would  twine. 
To  waft  across  the  waters 

A  joyous  valentine. 
To  whisper  love,  when  darker  grows 

The  web  of  destiny ; 
To  breathe,  perchance,  in  other  hours. 

Some  memory  of  me. 
To  murmur  to  the  lonely  heart 

Some  talismanic  word. 
Guarding  undimm'd  the  fount  of  love. 

Which  Heaven's  own  breath  hath  stirr'd. 

O !  I  love  the  flush  upon  thy  cheek, 

The  light  upon  thy  brow ; 
There  may  they  rest  in  other  days. 

As  joyously  as  now. 


PAETINa  WOEDS. 

May  He  whose  chosen  one  thou  art, 

Give  thee  the  joy  to  win 
Gems  for  the  Saviour's  coronal, 

In  spirits  pure  from  sin. 
So  when  the  note  of  conquest 

Soundeth  o'er  all  the  field, 
Thou  Shalt,  in  sacred  triumph. 

Thy  gather'd  trophies  yield. 
February  9,  1854. 


149 


iT'd. 


I 


PARTING  WORDS. 

The  night  cometh.    John  ix,  4. 

So  breathed  a  young,  pure  spirit. 

As  the  fading  light  of  time 
Merged  in  the  solemn  radiance 

Borne  from  another  clime. 
Deep  are  the  gathering  shadows, 

Vailing  the  earthly  way ; 
Vain  is  the  spirit's  yearning. 

For  the  home  so  far  away. 

Her  home  was  where  the  myrtle  blooms, 

Beneath  the  sapphire  skies 
Of  sunny,  glorious  Italy,  ^ 

Where  beauty  never  dies. 
Yet  the  breath  of  song  and  fragrance 

Could  not  charm  the  flush  away 
That  burif  dupon  the  fever'd  cheek 

Ere  yet  it  turn'd  to  clay. 


■  H 


n 


•I 


160 


MAKGAEET  ELIZABETH. 


^Wlght  Cometh  r  thus  a  while  she  sigh'd, 

Till  the  fair  home  on  high, 
With  its  unutter'd  gladness, 

Rose  brightly  to  her  eye  ; 
Then,  with  a  song  of  triumph. 

The  spirit  pass'd  away. 
Her  all  of  melody  and  song 

Pour'd  in  that  parting  lay. 
February  6,  1854. 


•^ 


3igh'd, 


MAllGARET   ELIZABETH 


SELECTIONS  FKOM  HEli  WKITJNGS. 


v\ 


dros^ 


■^ 


"IS* 


i 


H 


THE  DESTROYING  ANGEL. 

The  day  had  been  hot  and  sultry, 
and  as  night  drew  on,  and  the  shadows 
of  twilight  gathered  around,  gently 
and  softly  fell  the  refreshing  dews  of 
evening  upon  the  now  parched  and  weary 
earth.  Beautifully  did  the  sun  go  down 
that  night  upon  Egypt,  and  when  the  last 
tints  of  day  were  gone,  the  stars  stepped 
forth,  as  was  their  wont,  in  the  clear 
heavens ;  the  moon  shone  down  as  calmly 
as  ever  upon  leaflet  and  tree,  and  the 
glorious  Nile  rolled  proudly  on  its  course. 
Surely  that  night  nothing  betokened  aught 
but  peace. 

The  evening  waned;  and  as  silence 
reigned,  and  "not  a  leaf  stirred  in  the 
awakening  breeze,"  a  figure  was  seen 
moving  half  hid  among  the  dark,  cluster- 
ing shrubbery  of  the  royal  palace.  It 
was  the  monarch  of  Egypt,  who,  in  the 
stillness  of  the  evening,  was  gazing  around. 


Vi'      y  \m.. 


154: 


MARGAEET  ELIZABETH. 


He  stood  looking  upward,  but  it  was  no 
sentimeut  of  gratitude  or  adoration  that 
trembled  on  his  lip,  as  the  land  in  its  love- 
liness,  glowing  in  the  silver  light,  lay 
spread  like  a  picture  before  him  ;  triumph 
and  exultation  indeed  filled  his  soul,  but 
it  was  but  the  triumph  of  the  tyrant  over 
his  victim,  the  unholy  exultation  of  the 
oppressor  over  his  prey.    Far  down  among 
the  fair  fields  of  Goshen  was  another  and 
a  different  scene.     There  a  little  band 
of  Israelites  had  gathered,  and  their  mel- 
ody broke  upon  the  quiet  of  the  hour,  as 
their  voices  mingled  in  a  hymn  of  praise 
with  which  they  were  concluding  their 
evening  service.    But  time  passed  on,  and 
ere  long  the  Egyptian  monarch,  and  the 
lonely,  stricken  Hebrews,  had  alike  retired 
from  the  scene,  the  one  to  the  silence  ot 
repose,  the  others  to  prepare  for  the  cele- 
bration of  that  mysterious  rite,  upon  the 
issue  of  which  trembled  the  destiny  of 
Israel's  fii-st-born,  when  the  sky,  which 
had  been  so  clear  and  iindimmed,  became 
suddenly  obscured  ;  dark,  heavy   masses 
of  clouds  came  rolling  up  the  firmament, 


%^ 


fi 


THE   DE8TE0YING   ANGEL. 


155 


^is  no 
1  that 
s  love- 
^t,  lay 
iumpli 
ul,  but 
it  over 
of  tlie 
among 
ler  and 
i  band 
Av  mel- 
lonr,  as 
:  praise 
[q:  their 
on, and 
and  the 
i  retired 
ence  of 
:he  cele- 
ipon  the 
istiny  of 
r,  which 
,  became 
'   masses 
mament. 


r- 


heavens, 


unfolding  themselves  in  tl 
the  mournful  breathings  of  the  wind,  as  it 
swept  up  in  strong  and  fitful  gusts,  seemed 
to  warn  of  an  approaching  storm.  Ah! 
those  blasts  thrilled  through  many  a 
Hebrew,  who,  as  he  listened  and  marked 
the  fierce  scowl  of  the  heavens,  and  heard 
the  Nile  surging  and  coursing  by  so  fear- 
fully, drew  closer  to  his  bosom  his  first- 
born, and  fancied  the  hour  had  come. 

It  was  midnight,  and  the  terrible,  tran- 
sitory tempest  had  passed  ;  the  black 
clouds  had  rolled  far  back  from  the  sky  ; 
the  breeze  was  sweeping  through  the  thick 
olive  boughs,  and  the  moon  and  stars 
were  again  looking  forth  in  undying  bril- 
liancy :  and  so  passed  that  solemn  mid- 
night hour.  But  O !  who  may  paint  the 
tide  of  troubled  feeling  that  broke  over  the 
soul  of  many  an  Israelite,  when,  as  in  the 
deep  silence  and  quietude  of  night  he 
stood  girded  for  his  triumphant  march,  he 
heard  the  rush  and  fluttering  of  pinions, 
as  the  unseen  visitant  swept  past  his  dwell- 
ing. He  knew  truly  that  the  Zord  God 
of  his  fathers  was  his  sure  defense ;  that 

10 


•^1 '  I 


i'      '' 


166  MABGAEET  ELIZABETH. 

he  rested  beneath  the  wing  of  the  Omnip- 
otent ;  bnt  as  he   thought  of  Egypt  he 
trembled  ;  and  well  might  his  cheek  turn 
pale   and  his  lip  quiver  on  that  feartul 
night,  as  the  destroyer  spread  /ortli  his 
wingi  on  the  blast;  for  at "  midnight  here 
was  a  great  cry  throughout  all  the  land, 
such  as  there  was  none  like  it  nor  sliall 
be  like  it  any  more."    O !  the  deep  bitter- 
ness, the  untold  anguish  of  that  waihng 
cry,  as  it  rose  to  heaven  from  the  agonized 
bosom  of   many   an    Egyptian  mother! 
Who  may  tell  of  the  rending  of  hearts, 
the  blighting  of  cherished  hopes,  as  Egypt 
arose  and  mourned  for  her  first-born ! 


* 


* 


* 


* 


The  morning  arose  clear  and  glorious, 
and  the  sun  looked  forth  in  splendor  upon 
stricken  and  scathed  hearts ;  for  he  that 
swayed  the  scepter  and  "  the  captive  that 
was  in  the  dungeon,"  were  alike  smitten 
that  night.     But  far  on  in  the  distance 
toward    Succoth,   moved    the    glittering 
phalanx  of  the  Lord's  chosen  ones,  for  the 
same  unseen  hand  that  was  laid  so  wither- 
ingly  upon   the  glory  of  Egypt,  had,  as 


inip- 
)t  he 
turn 
jarful 
li  his 
there 
land, 
shall 
bitter- 
ailing 
mized 
other! 
learts, 
Egypt 
^! 

orious, 
T  upon 
le  that 
ve  that 
smitten 
iistance 
ittering 
,  for  the 
wither- 
had,  as 


Is 


THE   FIRST  SABBATH   SCHOOL.  157 

with  the  grasp  of  Omnipotence,  burst  the 
galling  shackles  of  Israel's  bondage,  and 
she  was  disenthralled. 


THE  FIRST    SABBATH   SCHOOL 

Honor  to  whom  honor  is  due.—ST.  Paul. 

The  name  of  Eobert  Eaikes  has  long 
been  embalmed  in  the  memory  of  the 
Christian  world,  and  has  gone  forth  to 
distant  regions,  bearing  imperishably  em- 
blazoned upon  it  the  enviable  distinction 
of  having  been  the  primal  originator  of 

those  eifective  instrumentalities  for  good 

Sabbath  schools. 

.  We  would  not  willingly  pluck  one  leaf 
from  the  gloriously-earned  laurels  of  Eob- 
ert Eaikes  ;  yet  a  regard  to  truth  induces 
us  to  bring  forward  a  fact,  which  may  not 
be  generally  known,  and  which  marked 
the  year  1769.  The  year  '69 !  many  event- 
ful changes,  many  lights  and  shadows,  are 
doubtless  chronicled  in  its  tablets.  That 
year   began   the  earthly  career  of  two, 


lil 


!l 


1  ,-<  -Iff 


I 


158  MABGAKET  ELIZABETH. 

witli  whose  names  the  nations  of  the  earth 
have  since  become  familiar-the  one  of  the 
storm  and  cloud,  "the  ^ceptered  hem^  ' 
who  burst  upon  Europe  as  a  brilhant  me- 
teor  only  to  fade  in  darkness  upon  the 
rock  of  St.  Helena ;  and  his  more  truly 
glorious,  conquering  foe-Welhngton  ot 
Waterloo.     But  passing  by  these  illus- 
trious names,  ^ve  point  you  to  the  toy.  of 
Hieh  Wycombe,  in  Buckmghamshn-e.    In 
thi!  sequestered  spot  that  year  witnessed 
the  establishment  by  a  young,  unaided 
female,  of  the  first  Sabbath  Bchool  ever 
foundedinEngland.    Thatfemalew^sHan- 
nah  Ball,  one  of  our  primitive,  standard 
Methodists,  a  friend  and  con-espondent  ot 
our  now  sainted  Wesley.    In  the  memoir 
of  this  departed  pilgrim,  prefaced  by  Bev. 
Thomas  Jackson,  we  find  this  iact  thus 

registered :  "  Miss  Ball  was  the  first  person 
who  established  a  Sunday  school  m  •  this 
town,  in  the  year  1Y69  ;  which  is  rendered 
the  more  remarkable,  from  the  fact  of 
lier  taking  nearly  fourteen  years  preced- 
ence of  Mr.  Raikes,  of  Gloucester,  the 
i,ui,ovf^    admitted    founder    of   Sunday 


THE   FIRST   SABBATH   SCHOOL. 


159 


earth 
of  the 
rmit," 
it  me- 
)n  the 
I  truly 
ton  of 

illiis- 
3wn  of 
ire.    In 
tnessed 
maided 
ol  ever 
asHan- 
tandard 
dent  of 
memoir 
by  Rev. 
ict  thus 
,t  person 
L  in  this 
rendered 

fact  of 
'  preced- 
ister,  the 

Sunday 


schools  in  the  year  1783.  Miss  Ball  con- 
tinued this  school  for  many  years,  and 
also  met  the  children  every  Mond*^  '-,  to 
instruct  them  in  the  principles  of  diris- 
tianity,  earnestly  desiring,  as  she  observes 
in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Wesley,  to  promote  the 
interests  of  the  Church  of  Christ." — Note  to 
page  71.  At  page  84  of  the  same  volume, 
in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Wesley,  Miss  Ball  thus 
alludes  to  her  labors:  "The  children  meet 
twice  a  week,  every  Sunday  and  Monday. 
They  are  a  wild  little  company,  but  seem 
willing  to  be  instructed.  I  labor  among 
them,  earnestly  desiring  to  ].  /'^mote  the 
interests  of  the  Church  of  Christ."  By 
other  portions  of  her  biography,  we  learn 
that  Miss  Ball  successfully  continued  this 
school  for  many  years,  and  that  she  had 
the  satisfaction  of  witnessing  the  happy 
effects  of  her  pious  toil  in  numerous  in- 
stances. Honor  to  our  beloved  Method- 
ism !  God  has  truly  distinguished  her, 
that  from  her  midst  should  be  chosen  one, 
"rich  in  faith  and  an  heir  of  the  king- 
dom," to  fii-st  wield  "  in  weakness,  and  in 
fear,  and  in  much  trembling,"  a  potent  in- 


■I         ) 

k 


Ml 


|i:i 


I 


\  1 


111 


i !  I 


I 


160 


MA.EGAKKT    ELIZABETH. 


struraentality  for  good,  the  glorious  results 
of  which  shall  be  traceable,  as  in  living 
characters,  in  that  day,  when  all  the  fleet- 
ing and  changeful  glory  of  earth  shall  pass 
away  before  the  searching  eye  of  the  Om- 
niscient.   When  Hannah  Ball  first  gather- 
ed her  youthful  charge  beneath  the  broad, 
mantling  shadow  of  some  old  English  oak, 
and  there  told  them  of  the  dying  love  ot 
Jesus,  and  rehearsed  the  wondrous  story 
of  the  cross,  no  foreshadowing  of  fnture 
fame  ever  crossed  her  unambitious  mind ; 
she  little  realized  that  she  was  opening 
up  a  channel,  through  which  the  watei-s 
of  eternal  truth  should  pour  upon  the  in- 
fant mind,  till  the  ceaseless  labor  of  time 
should  give  place  to  the  full  fruition  of 
eternity.     And  yet  so  it  was ;  and  it  ever 
has  been  the  case,  that  human  effort  has 
been  generally  unappreciated,  until  after 
ages  have  discovered  its  magnitude  and 
excellence.    The  name  of  Napoleon  Bo- 
naparte has  burst  in  chivalrous  enthusiasm 
from  the  lips  of  admiring  thousands,  while 
that  of  Hannah  Ball  has  scarcely  passed 
bevond  the  limit  of  a  chosen  circle ;  yet  in 


i 


THE   FIRST   SABBATH    SCHOOL. 


161 


38ultS 

iving 
fleet- 
Ipass 

Om- 
ither- 
)road, 
1  oak, 
>ve  of 

storv 
future 
mind ; 
)ening 
svaters 
lie  in- 
if  time 
ion  of 
it  ever 
)rt  has 
1  after 
ie  and 
3n  Bo- 
usiasm 
5,  while 

passed 
;  vet  in 

7        a/ 


that  day  when  all  the  things  of  earth  shall 
be  divested  of  the  drapery  of  external 
pomp,  which  name  shall  go  up  as  incense 
to  the  throne  of  the  Omnipotent  ?  Which 
shall  bear  with  it  the  trembling  prayers 
and  blessings  of  infant  voices?  ^^The  day 
shall  declared  How  true  is  that  senti- 
ment: "The  chords  which  our  fingers 
touch  shall  vibrate  throughout  eternity." 
If  we  would  have  those  chords  vibrate 
in  harmony  during  the  ages  of  eternity, 
we  must  touch  no  jarring  nor  dis- 
cordant notes  while  travelers  in  time. 
Let  us  look,  as  did  Hannah  Ball,  beyond 
the  fleeting  pageantry  of  earth,  to  the 
changeless  realities  of  another  and  a  per- 
manent state  of  existence,  ever  bearing 
in  mind  that  "  the  things  which  are  seen 
a/re  temporal^  hict  the  things  which  a/re  un- 
seen are  eternaV^ 

September  22,  1852. 


|!    ■.  ' 


162 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


A 


I  ii 


•■  \ 


A  FRAGMENT. 

"  What  is  the  hero's  clarion,  though  its  bto* 

King  with  the  mastery  of  a  world?"  WiLlis. 

Night  had  drawn  her  sable  vail  over 
the  fair  face  of  nature ;  the  pale  moon  trod 
on  her  patli  of  beauty  amid  the  quench- 
less lights  of  heaven,  and  the  dew  lay 
quivering,  like  the  tears  of  angels,  upon 
leaf  and  flower.    The  hoarae  booming  of 
artillery,  the  last  wailing  cry  of  dying  man, 
the  joyous  shoutof  victory,  and  the  mingled 
"  sounds  of  blood  and  splendor,  revelry  and 
woe,"  had  all  ceased,  and  the  holy  hush 
of  night  was  deep  and  unbroken.    There 
was  one  who,  in  that  day's  tumultuous 
strife,  had  won  for  himself  glory  and  honor 
that  shall  last  while  time  endures.     With 
a  brow  upon  which  no  shade  of  fear  was 
ever  seen,  and  a  courage  which  never 
faltered  throughout  that  fearful  day,  he 
led  his  warriors  on  to  battle.    The  flush 
of  victory  was  on  his  cheek  that  night,  for 
the  imperial  eagle  had  fallen,  and  the  hero 
of  Jena  and  "Austerlitz  was  vanquished  on 


A  FKAGMENT. 


163 


Willis. 

[  over 
)n  trod 
Liencli- 
5W  lay 
;,  upon 
ing  of 
g  man, 
lingled 
Iry  and 
y  Inisli 

There 
ultuous 
d  honor 

With 
ear  was 
1  never 
day,  he 
he  flush 
ight,  for 
the  hero 
ished  on 


the  plains  of  Waterloo.    Life,  like  a  picture 

of  enchantment,  now  glowed  before  him 

in  all  the  vivid  coloring  of  hope.     He  stood 

in  the  full  sunlight  of  glory,  crowned  with 

laurels,  which  the  hand  of  i  )yalty  itself 

had  placed  upon  his  brow,  and  with  the 

chivalrous  homage  of  nations  at  his  feet. 

Who  may  gaze  upon  that  form  of  beauty 

and  vigor,  and  think  of  death  ?     Is  it  not 

too  glorious  for  the  grave  ? 

^  *  ^  ^ 

Summer  had  flown  with  her  fair,  pearly 
blossoms,  and  her  incense  of  all  things 
bright  and  beautiful,  and  autumn,  with 
her  gorgeous  drapery,  was  smiling  upon 
the  "  stately  homes  of  England."  Where 
was  now  the  warrior  that,  more  than  thirty 
years  ago,  had  won  his  triumphs  on  the 
fields  of  sunny  France,  and  on  the  plains 
of  Waterloo  ?  The  shadows  of  the  grave 
had  fallen  upon  his  spirit,  the  language  of 
another  sphere  had  burst  upon  his  ear,  the 
waves  of  the  death-stream  had  borne  him 
on  to  the  unfathomed  ocean  of  eternity : 
and  while  a  nation  wept  around  his  bier, 
"  The  dust  had  returned  to  the  earth  as  it 


ir.' 


im 


-rfvattavfrnm 


!    , 


r» 


164: 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


was,  and  the  spirit  had  returned  to  God 

who  gave  it." 

Earthly  fame  and  glory,  what  are  ye  ? 
Fair,  fleeting  shadows,  transient  as  the 
wreathing  foam  npon  the  billows  of  ocean ! 
We  seek  after  the  treasures  of  earth,  we 
grasp  them,  and  they  are  gone.     Let  us 
place  our  hopes  upon  that  which  is  '^Un- 
seen and  eternal,"  for  death  is  "around  us 
in  our  peaceful  homes,  and  the  world  calls 
us  forth,  and  it  is  there." 

October  dth,  1852. 


AUTUMN   MEMORIES. 

"The  Angel  of  the  Covenant  was  come,  and  faithful 
To  his  promise,  stood  prepared  to  walk  with  her 
Through  death's  dark  valo."  Pollok. 

Bright,  gorgeous  autumn  has  flown,  and 
once  again  is  the  step  of  winter  heard  on 
our  New  Brunswick  shores.  Despite  the 
sneers  of  our  English  friends  at  our  inhos- 
pitable climate,  there  is  a  brilliant  color- 
ing,  a  rich,  changeful  glory,  in  the  drapery 
of  our  magnificent  forest-trees  during  au- 
tumn, which  our  fair  fatherland,  though 


k 


AtTTUMN   MEMOEIE3. 


166 


;o  God 


ye? 
as  the 
ocean ! 
rth,  we 
Let  us 
Ls  "Un- 
Dund  us 
rid  calls 


Ithful 

ler 

POLLOK. 


»wn, 


and 
leard  on 
spite  the 
ur  inhos- 
nt  color- 
)  drapery 
iring  au- 
,  though 


I 


it  be  of  beauty,  can  never  boast ;  and  when 
the  months  have  fled  "  unto  the  pale,  the 
perished  past,"  we  sigh  vainly  for  their 
return.  But  earth  is  not  all  joy,  and 
though  to  us,  whose  homes  are  yet  undeso- 
lated  by  the  spoiler,  with  whom  the  silken 
cords  that  link  us  so  mysteriously  to  life, 
are  yet  unsundered,  the  cup,  which  the 
Father  of  our  spirits  has  measured  to  us, 
may  have  been  overflowing  with  gladness ; 
yet  to  those  who  have  laid  their  precious 
ones  in  the  cold  earth  to  slumber,  these 
autumn  months  have  been  overshadowed 
with  a  pall.  And  many  such  there  are ; 
for  the  stern  "  husbandman  that  reapeth 
always,"  hath  brought  his  fallen  sheaves, 
alike  from  the  stately  halls  where  Welling- 
ton breathed  forth  his  gallant  spirit,  and 
from  the  cabin  by  the  wayside  where  the 
son  of  toil  expired.  O !  what  an  autumn 
vision  rises  before  me  even  now,  though 
many  moons  have  waned  since  its  accom- 
plishment. She  was  very  fair  and  lovely, 
with  the  glorious  heraldry  of  beauty  on  her 
brow,  and  while  the  bright  flush  of  morn- 
ing was  yet  on  her  cheek,  was  called  to 


I 


.ip 


166 


MAEGAEET  ELIZABETH. 


f\ 


t 


the  mansion  of  the  blessed.    The  grave 
had  sealed  that  beaiitiful  form  for  his,  and 
one  by  one  parted  the  ties  of  life,  and  the 
spirit  plumed  its  wings  for  home.   Slowly 
faded  the  shores  of  time  in  the  dim  dis- 
tance, and  in  the  still,  solemn  night-time, 
voices  from  the  far  land  to  which  she  was 
ionrneying,  gave  their  music  to  her  ear. 
They  called,  "  Spirit,  come  to  the  home  ot 
thy  Father."     The  radiance  of  heaven 
kindled  in  her  eye,  and  though  he  to 
whom  she  was  bound  by  the  holiest  vows, 
and  three  young  blossoms  of  beauty  clung 
imploringly  to  her  mantle,  she  answered, 

"  I  come !" 

It  was  midnight,  and  as  she  lay  upon 
her  pillow,  life  was  fluttering  on  her  lips. 
Around  her  all  were  gathered  in  grief; 
father,  mother,  brothers,  young  sister,  hus- 
band, and  fair  children.     All  were  there, 
save  one,  the  cherished  sister  of  her  heart, 
she  who  had  just  left  her  in  the  full  bloom 
of  her  beautiful  womanhood.    Slowly  lift- 
ing the  lids  from  her  dark  eyes,  she  mur- 
mured dreamily, "  Mother,  where  is  Helen  ? 
Has  the  steamer  touched  the  wharf?    O ! 


f 


^ 


grave 
lis,  and 
LTid  the 
Slowly 
im  dis- 
it-time, 
she  was 
ler  ear. 
lome  of 
heaven 
1  he  to 
st  vows, 
ty  clung 
iswered, 

ay  upon 
her  lips, 
in  grief; 
3ter,  hus- 
re  there, 
ler  heart, 
ill  bloom 
owly  lift- 
she  mur- 
is  Helen? 
arf?     O! 


AUTUMN    MEMOKIES. 


167 


b 


has  Helen  come  ?"  "  jSTot  yet,  my  darling," 
whispered  the  fond  mother ;  and  she  sunk 
again  to  sleep.  "Wearily  waned  the  hou'-s 
of  that  long,  long  night,  and  yet  more 
faintly  came  the  breath  through  the  pale, 
motionless  lips.  Just  as  the  gray  morning 
light  struggled  through  the  shutters,  those 
eyes  again  opened,  all  flashing  with  the 
light  of  immortality,  and  gazing  upward, 
while  glory  unearthly  shone  on  every 
feature,  she  exclaimed,  "  How  beautiful ! 
O  !  Annie,  Annie !"  The  glittering  bands 
of  glorified  ones  stood  waiting  for  her,  and 
in  their  midst  she  saw  a  fair,  young  sister, 
that  had  long  since  passed  from  earth. 
One  long,  triumphant  note  of  victory 
thrilled  through  the  room,  as  seraph-fingers 
swept  their  harps,  and  all  was  still.  Her 
spirit  had  rejoined  the  early  "loved  and 
lost." 

November  SOth,  1852. 


1 


•i!| 


m 

i 


■Mb-i 


zsm 


I 

Smm 


III 


i 


it  ti 


168 


MARGAKET  ELIZABETH. 


DECEMBER  MUSINGS. 

"  Thou  hast  folded  thy  pinions,  thy  race  is  complete, 

And  fulfiird  thy  Creator's  behest ; 
Then  adieu  to  the  year  of  our  sorrows  and  joys, 

And  peaceful  and  long  be  thy  rest." 

M.  M.  Davidson. 

Time,  with  its  noiseless,  yet  never-ceasing 
step,  has  nearly  brought  us  to  the  thresh- 
old of  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-three. 
Few  of  us  can  realize,  in  glancing  back 
upon  the  pictured  past,  that  twelve  months 
have  fleeted  o'er  since  we  gathered  around 
our  Christmas  fires.     Yet  so  it  is,  and  some 
of  us  have  only  to  look  upon  the  changed 
and  saddened   groups  that  encircle   our 
hearths,  to  know  that  time  has  not  been 
stationary.     Some  there  are  who,  twelve 
months    since,    bowed    in    the    earthly 
sanctuary  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts,   whose 
voices  mingled  in  our  songs  of  joy,  as  we 
sang  the  birth  of  Jesus^  who  are  now  at 
home,  viewing  the  imvaiU-d  glory  before 
the  throne  of  the  Eternal     Others,  with 
whom  we  are  linked  by  the  heart's  holiest 
affections,  and  witli  whom  we  gathei^d  joy- 


I 


lete, 


IVIDSON. 

ceasing 
tliresli- 
^- three, 
g  back 
months 
around 
id  some 
ihanged 
cle   our 
ot  been 
twelve 
earthly 
»   whose 
y,  as  we 
now  at 
Y  before 
irs,  with 
s  holiest 
ei^djoy- 


I 


DECEMBER   MUSINGS. 


169 


ously  last  year,  are  now  far  away.  They 
have  left  us,  and 

"  Strong  as  was  a  mother's  love,  and  the  sweet  ties 

Religio!   makes  so  beautiful  at  home, 

They  flung  them  from  them  in  their  eager  race," 

and  are  this  day  lifting  up  their  voices  far 
to  the  east,  and  proclaiming  the  unsearch- 
able riches  of  Christ.  They  may  not 
mingle  in  the  loving  household  band  this 
year ;  we  miss  their  long-cherished  voices 
when  the  quiet  hour  of  even-tide  has  come, 
and  the  song  of  praise  goes  up  to  heaven 
from  the  family  altar;  when, 

♦•  Kneeling  down  to  heaven's  eternal  King, 
The  saint,  the  husband,  and  the  father  prays." 

But  with  them  it  is  well ;  the  Uessing  of 
the  Lord  God  of  their  fathers  is  upon 
them.  We  look  with  hope  and  gladness 
to  the  future,  in  whose  bosom  is  vailed  our 
meeting  again  in  joy. 

But  apart  from  our  own  firesides,  in  the 
old  ancestral  halls  of  our  beloved  England, 
and  the  sober  Puritan  homes  of  our  repub- 
lican brethren,  what  has  this  year  brought? 
Change,  sadness,  and  i  .rting  to  many. 


11! 


.-!i 


170 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


I     1^^': 


The  mighty  have  passed  away.  The  lion- 
hearted  and  invincible  warrior,  he  who 
scaled  the  pinnacle  of  earthly  glory,  who 

"  Heard  every  trump  of  fame,  drank  every  cup  of  joy, 
Drank  early,  deeply  drank ;" 

and  the  venerable  and  patriotic  statesman, 
have  alike  slept  in  death,  exchanging  the 
stern  and  hoary  magnificence  of  Walmer, 
and  the  sweet  seclusion  of  Marshfield,  for 
the  shadow  of  that  "  silent  waiting-hall, 
where  Adam  meeteth  with  his  children." 
In  this  year  of  marvels,  also,  gay,  chiv- 
alrous.  Sabbath-desecrating  Trance,  has 
surpassed   herself   in    wonders,   and   the 
scepter  which  but  yesterday  was  trampled 
in  scorn  by  an  mfuriated  multitude,  now 
trembles  in  the  despotic  grasp  of  the  pris- 
oner of  Ham,  who,  with  the  matchless  in- 
genuity  and  effrontery   of  his  imperial 
uncle,  is,  like  him,  while  claiming  to  be 
the  emancipator  of  his  country,  weaving 
more  and  more  thickly  the  meshes  of  the 
web  of  tyranny,  obliterating  every  trace 
of  freedom  from  the  laws  and  institutions 
of  la  Idle  France,  and  climbing,  witli 


P 


DECEMBER   MUSINGS. 


171 


le  lion- 
e  who 


r,  wno 


p  of  joy, 

;esmaii, 
ng  the 
''aimer, 
eld,  for 
tig-hall, 
Idren." 
y,  chiv- 
ce,  has 
,nd    the 
•ampled 
de,  now 
:he  pris- 
aless  in- 
imperial 
g  to  be 
weaving 
js  of  the 
ry  trace 
ititutions 
ig,  witli 


P 


feverish  haste,  the  topmost  round  of  the 
ladder  of  fame,  only,  perchance,  to  be 
hurled  thence  by  an  avenging  Providence. 
Far  away,  among  the  sunny  plains  of  Tus- 
cany, this  year  has  brought  change  upon 
its  pinions.  There  the  rights  of  the  citi- 
zen have  been  scorned,  the  sanctity  of  the 
home  invaded  ;  there  the  ties  of  the  house- 
hold have  been  sundered,  and  from  the 
hearth  and  the  altar  have  two  of  the  Lord's 
chosen  been  mercilessly  torn  to  grace  the 
iniquitous  triumphs  of  him,  emphatically 
styled  in  Scriptures,  the  "man  of  sin." 

Yet  "  the  Lord  God  omnipotent  reign- 
eth,"  and  we  believe  that  Protestant 
Europe,  and  especially  Protestant  England, 
will  never  suffer  the  noble  and  true-heart- 
ed Madiai  to  languish  out  their  lives  under 
the  desolating  stroke  of  the  oppressor. 

This  year  has  been  one  of  change  and 
transition,  deep,  solemn,  and  startling.  To 
each  of  us  it  is  permitted  in  memory  to 
traverse  the  sealed  and  finished  past ;  but 
the  future,  the  dark,  illimitable  future,  who 
can  scan  ?  The  far-searching  eye  of  the 
Omniscient  alone  may  read  its  mysterious 

11 


..•ss;a.'WM*»a£u^K'i» 


11.1 


n 


f  ''f 


U'» 


172 


MAltOAKET   ELIZABETH. 


pages.    Before  the  snows  of  next  Decein- 
ber  mantle  the  earth,  before  we  again 
gather  around  our  festal  tires,  the  young 
heart,  that  now  throbs  so  joyously,  may 
have  been  crushed  beneath  the  withering 
touch  of  sorrow,  or  its  beatings  may  be 
stilled  in  death.     Our  homes,  with  all  tlieir 
charities  and  endearments,  are  but  trail, 
perishable  structures,  floating  upon  the 
tide  of  time,  which  the  next  wave  niay 
sweep  into  the  ever-sounding  mam.    But 
the  future,  with  its  weal  and  its  woe,  is  ni 
the  hand  of  a  benignant  Father,  and  with 
those  who  consecrate  the  precious  unfold- 
ings  of  life  to  him,  though  the  storm-bird 
may  hover  around  their  path,  it  shall  be 
well— well.     So  when  the  shadows  of  this 
mortal  life  shall  have  passed  away  forever, 
and  the  fleeting  pageantry  of  earth  shall 
have  merged  in  the  solemn  splendor  of 
eternity,  shall  the  pearly  gates  of  that  fair 
home  on  high  unfold  themselves  to  view, 
and  the  enraptured  spirit,  spreading  forth 
its  pinions,  shall  enter  and  bow  before 
God. 


Deceniber  22d,  185 


-2. 


to 


BURIAL   AT   SEA. 


173 


ecem- 
again 
young 
,  may 
hering 
lay  be 
11  their 
t  frail, 
)n   the 
e  may 
.    But 
^e,  is  in 
id  with 
unfold- 
:*m-bird 
ihall  be 
I  of  this 
forever, 
th  shall 
[idor  of 
:hat  fair 
to  view, 
ng  forth 
r  before 


BURIAL  AT  SEA. 

To  tlice  the  lovo  of  woman  hath  gone  down, 
Dark  ilow  thy  tides  o'er  manhood's  noble  head, 

O'er  3'outh's  bright  loclcs,  and  beauty's  flowery  crown  ; 
Yet  slialt  thou  hear  a  voice,  '  Restore  the  dead ;' 

Eartli  sliall  rechiim  lier  precious  things  from  thee ; 
Restore  the  dead,  thou  sea !— Felicia  IIemans. 

It  was  sunset  on  the  broad  Atlantic; 
bright,  golden  clouds  hung  in  folds  around 
the  couch  of  the  departing  sun,  and  the 
slowly-fading  light  lay  like  a  coronal  of 
glory  upon  the  blue  waters.  The  stately 
ship  rode  gallantly  upon  their  bosom,  every 
spar  tinged  with  brightness. 

"  Bright  and  alone  on  the  shadowy  main, 

Like  a  heart-cherish'd  home  on  some  desolate  plain, 

Who,  as  the  beautiful  pageant  sweeps  by, 

Music  around  her  and  sunshine  on  high, 

Pauses  to  think  amid  glitter  and  glow, 

0 !  there  be  hearts  that  are  breaking  below ! 

Or  dreams  that  he  watches  afloat  on  the.  wave. 

The  death-bed  of  hope,  and  the  young  spirit's  grave  V 

And  yet  so  it  was,  for  within  was  death. 
The  young  and  fair,  the  wife  and  mother, 

lav   strinkpn     and   *'  whilp.    lifp    vcroa    in    Ua 


rn 


I  M  jt^\^  JL  A  A  ^^ 


rr  ttkj      XXX      X  i 


<*  {■ 


if[r" 


p 


'  i 


li    I ' a 


I 


iilM 


174 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


spring,"    disease   came,    and    hiding  his 
ghastly  finger  amid  her  sunny  tresses,  im- 
pressed the  crimson  death-bloom  on  her 
cheek.     She  had  left  her  own  beautiful 
England,  and  ancient  halls  of  her  fathers, 
to  seek  the  shores  of  New  Brunswick,  and 
greet  once  more  the  sister  of  her  child- 
hood, who  had  preceded  her  to  that  coun- 
try.    But  while  the  deep  sea  yet  foamed 
between  them,  she  was  called  to  leave  all 
the  anticipated  charms  of  her  sweet  Ameri- 
can home,  to  take  possession  of  that  "house 
not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heav- 


jj 


ens. 

Calmly  she  closed  her  eyes,  saying, 
"  Are  we  not  near,  Maria  ?  Are  we  not 
nearly  there?"  then  murmuring,  "O,  I  am 
very  sleepy,"  she  sank  to  rest.  Hour  after 
hour  moved  on,  and  the  tireless  watchers 
by  the  couch  of  the  dying  feared  to  dis- 
turb her.  But  now,  as  the  day-king  was 
departing  to  his  Western  home,  she  woke, 
as  the  last  waves  of  the  chill  waters  of 
time  were  breaking  upon  her  bark,  and 
the  solemn  temples  of  the    eternal  city 

*"  _«.  .n.  4  I 


t         %^ 


were    about   rising  m   full   sight. 


A  ^A 


ws 


\<r   his 
es,  im- 
Dii  her 
autiful 
athers, 
3k,  and 
cliild- 
t  coiin- 
foamed 
ave  all 
Ameri- 
"  house 
e  heav- 

saying, 
we  not 
3, 1  am 
UY  after 
catchers 
to  dis- 
ing  was 
e  woke, 
aters  of 
irk,  and 
aal  city 


lUBIAL  AT   SEA. 


175 


i. 

I. 


A  ^A 


though  all- -nconscious  that  the  beautiful 
blossom  of  immortality,  but  just  given  to 
her  embrace,  was  ah*eady  blooming  in  the 
paradise  of  God,  and  that  she  herself  was 
rapidly  nearing  her  heavenly  home,  yet, 
as  if  her  loving  heart  had  been  propheti- 
cally warned,  that  those  she  was  leaving 
would,  in  after  years,  need  the  consolation 
her  w^ords  might  inspire,  her  rapt  spirit 
already  breathed  the  language  of  another 
sphere,  and,  as  life  was  waning,  her  hope, 
that  bright  hope,  "  which  is  as  an  anchor 
to  the  soul,  both  sure  and  steadfast,"  was 
clear  and  quenchless.  "/  know  that  my 
Redeemer  livetli^'^  breathed  forth  the  flut- 
tering spirit,  and  while  they  gazed,  the 
shackles  burst,  the 

"  Tent  at  sunset  on  the  ground 
A  darkened  ruin  lay." 

"So  fleeted  away  her  brief  existence,"  and 
they  who  yet  lingered  on  earth  bowed  in 
silence. 

How  mournful  is  a  burial  at  sea!  It 
was  clecr,  bright  midday,  and  saddened 
groups  stood  around  the  bier.     There  lay 

thp  iinlp  mnfhAr   nnri  \\\r  lip-p  aiflA  flio  liffla 


176 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


i     I 


fair  one,  whose  sojourn  on  earth  had  been 
so  brief,  with  the  blue  eyes  half  open,  and 
the  dimpled  hands  clasped.     Eeverently 
stood  that  stricken  band,  and  listened  to 
those  ever-beautiful  and  touching  words, 
"  We  commit  her  body  to  the  deep  in  sure 
and  certain  hope  of  the  resurrection  to 
eternal   life."     Then   the   last    mournful 
plunge,  and  the  cherished  ones  were  on 
that  long,  dreary  march  to  the  grave,  to 
rest  amid  the  buried  treasures  of  the  deep. 
Five  hours  ere  tliey  shall  reach  the  tomb  ! 
Sleep !  sleep !  fair  daughter  of  grief,  but 
when  the  broad,  lonely  sea  shall  unvail  her 
depths,  thou  shalt  rejoin  the  glorious  as- 
semblage in  thy  Father's  liouse,  where  are 
many  mansions. 

"  Such  o'er  memory  sweep 
Sadly,  when  aught  brings  back  that  burial  of  the  deep.'^ 

January  18,  1853. 


Pi  *  M 


HOME  THOUGHTS. 


177 


id  been 
•en,  and 
^erently 
3ned  to 
;  words, 
I  in  sure 
3tion  to 
Lournful 
,vere  on 
rave,  to 
be  deep, 
e  tomb  1 
i-ief,  but 
Lvail  lier 
ions  as- 
here  are 

p 

'the  deep." 


HOME  THOUGHTS. 

"  There  is  a  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 

A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest ; 

O !  thou  Shalt  find,  where'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 

That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home." 

MONIGOMERY. 

In  this  land  of  shadows,  amid  aU  the 
dreams  of  Hfe,  how  many  precious  traces 
and  foreshadowinfi-s  of  our  immortality 
cling  around  the  earthly,  vailing  for  a  mo- 
ment all  the  cold  and  mocking  pageantry  of 
a  heartless  world,  and  giving  to  the  trem- 
bling spirit  one  glimpse  of  the  pure  glory 
of  heaven.  Such  are  all  the  fond  and 
sacred  memories  that  bind  us  to  our  homes; 
stamped  upon  the  trusting  heart  of  child- 
hood, they  twine  around  the  deep,  hidden 
affections  of  our  nature,  and  amid  the  fitful 
and  troubled  scenes  of  after  life,  flash  back 
upon  the  worn  spirit  in  all  the  vividness  of 
early  youth,  pointing  afar  to  that  "home 
that  never  changeth." 

Very  pleasantly  comes  back  the  picture 
of  an  olden  home,  far  away.  It  stood  near 
where  the  blue  waters  made  glad  music, 


178 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


y.; 


P: 


II 


half  hidden  in  embowering  green,  and  in 
the  glorious  summer  time  the  woodbine 
flung  its  tendrils  over  all  its  walls.  It  was 
very  beautiful  to  look  on ;  and  there  gath- 
ered, in  the  eventide,  a  band  of  fair  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  whose  voices  gladdened 
board  and  hearth.  Lovingly  they  jour- 
neyed on  life's  pilgrimage  together,  till 

"  Fate,  with  sternness  on  his  brow, 
Arose  and  spoke  this  cruel  vow  : 
rn  break  these  bonds  so  true." 

Then  one,  with  the  dew  of  morning  on  his 
brow,  cast  a  wishful  glance  to  the  sunny 
plains  of  the  South,  where  the  thrilling 
notes  of  the  war-clarion  floated  o'er  the 
wave,  and  casting  far  away  the  silken 
cords  that  fettered  him  to  kindred,  "he 
rushed  to  glor^  or  the  grave."  Months 
passed  on ;  he  "  for  whom  the  prayer  went 
up  through  midnight's  breathless  gloom," 
came  not ;  but  at  last  a  long,  deep  note  of 
woe  sounded  across  the  waters,  that  told 
the  son  and  brother  was  not.  The  mother 
raised  her  meek,  tearful  eyes  to  heaven, 
and  tlie  white-haired  father  bowed  liis 
head  in  silence,  and  the  youthful  hearts 


and  in 
)dbine 
It  was 
3  gath- 

brotli- 

Idened 

jonr- 

till 


on  Ills 

sunnv 
irilling 
'er  the 

silken 
d,  ''he 
Months 
3r  went 
^loom," 
note  of 
lat  told 
mother 
tieaven, 
jed   liis 

hea'^ts 


HOME  THOUGHTS. 


1T9 


that  yearned  as  fondly  for  his  coming, 
mourned  long  and  bitterly.  Thus,  one  by 
one,  parted  those  young  blossoms  from  the 
home  center.  Years  have  fled  since  then, 
and  now  where  are  they?  Some  are  yet 
dwelling  on  the  shore  of  time,  w^hile  others 
have  crossed  the  swellings  of  Jordan,  and 
"shaking  the  water-drops  from  their  pin- 
ions, have  entered  the  bright  home  of 
many  mansions."  Some  sleep  peacefully 
in  the  old  church-yard,  some  are  toiling  on 
the  burning  plains  of  India,  one  slumbers 
in  a  far-off  rock  of  the  deep,  and  one^ 

"  The  sea,  the  blue,  lone  sea,  hath  one ; 

He  lies  where  pearls  lie  deep. 
He  was  the  fairest  flower  of  all,  yet  none 

O'er  his  low  bed  may  weep. 

And  parted  thus  they  rest,  who  play'd 

Beneath  the  same  green  tree  ; 
Who£C  voices  mingled,  as  they  pray'd 

Around  one  parent  knee.'' 

But  there  is  a  home  that  shall  never,  never 
change.  Centuries  have  rolled  away 
without  a  shadow  on  its  brightness,  and 
though  "ear  hath  not  heard"  its  deep 
songs  of  joy,  still  the  music  of  these  songs 


m 


180 


MABGAKET   ELIZABETH. 


echoes  now  as  solemnly,  as  joyously,  as  it 
did  eigliteen  hundred  years  ago,  when  the 
l^erinit  of  Patmos  caught  the  rapturous 
tones,  and  the  chorus  was,  "Alleluia,  the 
Lord  God  omnipotent  reigneth." 

February  10,  1853. 


THE  MARTYRS  OF  MADEIRA. 


NUMBER  I. 

"  Avenge,  0  Lord  1  thy  slflughter'd  saints,  whose  bones 
Lie  scatter'd  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold/'— Milton. 

Nearly  two  hundred  years  have  rolled 
away  since,  among  the  peaceful  valleys, 
and  hills  of  Piedmont,  the  fires  of  perse- 
cution raged  fiercely,  in  the  relentless 
endeavor  to  exterminate  the  faithful  band 
of  chosen  ones,  who,  in  the  midst  of  sur- 
rounding darkness  and  defilement,  had 
preserved  their  garments  white  and  "  un- 
spotted from  the  world."  Hunted  from 
mountain  to  mountain,  the  tale  of  their 
wrongs  and  sufferings,  the  I'ecord  of  their 
unflinching  constancy,  and   the   sublime 


^ 


!  a 


THE  MARTYRS    OF  MADEIRA. 


181 


ly,  as  it 
hen  the 
ipturous 
Ilia,  the 


I  bones 

[ILTON. 


e  rolled 
valleys. 
)f  perse- 
elentless 
ful  band 
t  of  siir- 
3nt,  had 
nd  "  lin- 
ed  from 
of  their 
of  their 
sublime 


consolations  which  sustained  them  ahke  in 
life  and  in  death,  echoed  through  the 
length  and  breadth  of  Europe,  and  enshrin- 
ed their  memory  in  the  hearts  of  all  who 
receive  "the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus." 
Their  spirit  has  not  passed  with  them  into 
the  skies;  it  has  outlived  the  wreck  of 
successive  generations,  and,  amid  the 
surfings  of  the  great  ocean  of  time,  we 
see  it  rising,  undimmed  and  unquenched, 
from  the  billows  of  persecution,  and  with 
clear  and  steady  ray,  pouring  its  luster 
over  the  wild  waste  of  waters.  And  thus 
shall  it  ever  be ;  while  the  hosts  of  dark- 
ness wage  tbeir  deadly  w^arfare  against 
the  Lord  and  against  his  anointed,  th^ 
redeemed  and  purified  nature  of  man  shall, 
by  the  aid  of  the  Omnipotent,  rise,  phoe- 
nix-like, from  the  ashes  of  the  fires  wdiere 
intolerance  sought  to  destroy  the  undying 
principle,  with  the  fragile  tenement  which 
shrined  it,  and  triumph  finally  and  glori- 
ously over  every  foe.  Its  latest  arena  of 
conflict  with  the  legions  of  antichrist  w^as 
on  the  plains  of  Tuscany,  where  the  strug- 
gle waxes  yet  more  fearful.     Of  many  of 


■sifliiiaiii 


I' 


IP- 


Ipi 


182 


MAKGAEET   ELIZABETH. 


tliose   who   have   so    nobly   suffered   for 
righteousness'  sake,  we  have  but  slight  and 
imperfect    information.     The    names    of 
some  are  irrecoverably  lost  to  earth,  while 
over    the   history   of    others   "  a   vail  of 
necessary  secrecy  has  been  drawn,  shroud- 
ing the  details  from  public  view."     Such, 
among  others,    was   the  case,   until  very 
lately,  with  the  deeply-thrilling  memoirs 
of  the  Madeirenses,  or  natives  of  the  island 
of  Madeira ;  and  as  there  can  be  now  no 
apprehension,  in  unfolding  the  scenes  of 
peril  through  which  her  martyrs  passed, 
of  increasing  that  peril  and  suffering,  it 
may  not  be  unpleasing  for  us  to  linger  for 
a  moment  over  the  records  of  unswerving 
trust  and  confidence  in  God   which  the 
mission  of  Madeira  presents.     As  a  Por- 
tuguese colony  and  a  papal  missionary  sta- 
tion, thick  moral   and   spiritual  darkness 
had  long  shrouded  that   beautiful  island, 
where  the  very   air  breathes  songs    and 
fragrance.    Bright  and  gorgeous  as  are  all 
the  aspects  of  nature  in  that  climate,  the 
eve  of  the  Christian  might  not  rest  on  it 
with  pleasure,  nor  with  feelings  unallied 


fed  for 
^ht  and 
nes  of 
I,  while 
vail  of 
sbroud- 
S 11  ell, 
:il  very 
Liemoirs 
e  island 
now  no 
enes  of 


^•Ing,  it 
nger  for 
vverving 
ieli  tlie 
5  a  Por- 
lary  sta- 
larkness 
.  island, 
igs  and 
s  are  all 
Late,  tlie 
est  on  it 
nnallied 


P 


THE   MAliTYKS    OF    MADEIRA. 


183 


to  those  expressed  by  the  Gentile  apostle, 
when  standing  upon  Mar's  Hill,  and  view- 
ing ancient  Athens  in  all  her  glittering 
beauty,  his  spirit  was  stirred  within  him, 
as  he  saw  the  city  "  wholly  given  to  idola- 
trv."  Such  was  Madeira  when,  about  the 
year  1838  or  1839,  the  attention  of  Dr. 
Kalley,  a  Scotch  physician  of  celebrity, 
then  resident  in  Madeira,  was  directed  to  the 
spiritual  condition  of  those  around ;  and  with 
the  view  of  exciting  their  attention,  he  com- 
menced holding  meetings  for  the  purpose  of 
reading  and  explaining  the  Scriptures.  In 
the  summer  of  1842  an  observer  might 
have  seen  groups  of  people  wending  their 
way  over  the  soft  slopes  and  rising  hills, 
in  the  long,  quiet  summer  afternoons,  to  a 
ridge,  bounded  by  steep  valleys  on  the 
east  and  west,  and  lofty,  cloud-girdled 
mountains  on  the  south.  The  surrounding 
country  w^as  rich  in  the  full,  glorious 
beauty  of  summer,  and  there,  day  after  day, 
beneath  the  shade  of  the  dark  spreading 
vines,  gathered  one,  two,  three,  and  four 
thousand  of  the  native  Madeirenses,  to 
listen  to  the  reading  of  the  word  of  God. 


'■!■% 


JStS? 


.  H-tM  ir.iijpimWiHi>iBi 


I 


i 


1- 


f  si 


184 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


Deeply  and  solemnly  interesting  as  must 
have  been  the  sight  of  so  many  immortal 
beings,  many  of  whom  had  walked  ten  or 
twelve  miles,  and  crossed  mountains  three 
thousand  feet  high,  for  the  purpose  of 
joining  this  devoted  group,  banging  in 
breathless  earnestness  upon  the  lips  of  the 
Scripture  reader,  such  proceedings  could 
not  fail  to  excite  the  bitterest  hostility  of 
both  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  authorities, 
and  a  pastoral  letter  was  accordingly 
issued,  threatening  the  penalty  of  excom- 
munication against  all  who  shoukl  read 
the  Bible. 

In  January,  1843,  an  order  was  given  to 
Dr.  Kalley,  from  tlie  civil  governor,  to  de- 
sist entirely  from  speaking  to  Portuguese 
subjects  on  religious  topics,  either  in  his 
house  or  out  of  it.  This  mandate  produced 
no  other  effect  than  causing  the  meetings 
to  be  adjourned  to  Dr.  Kalley 's  own  resi- 
dence, it  being  found,  on  examination,  that 
by  the  Portuguese  law,  no  subject  could  be 
prevented  from  entering  any  dwelling,  if 
he  had  the  consent  of  the  owner.  The 
people,  therefore,  continued  to  attend  the 


• 


If 


MARTYKS  OF  MADEIRA. 


185 


,s  must 
imortal 
ten  or 
s  three 
ose  of 
ying  in 
5  of  the 
s  could 
ility  of 
lorities, 
rdirigly 
exconi- 
d  read 

jiven  to 
r,  to  de- 
tuguese 
[•  in  his 
^oduced 
leetings 
vn  resi- 
on,  that 
jould  be 
[ling,  if 
r.  ^The 
end  the 


meetings  in  large  numbers,  and  also  the 
evening  schools  for  adults.  At  these 
schools  upward  of  one  thousand  persons 
were  estimated  to  have  learned  to  read, 
and  search  the  word  of  God  for  themselves. 
Great  and  increasing  interest  was  evinced 
in  the  truths  of  the  Gospel ;  and  many,  from 
time  to  time,  as  guided  by  the  teachings 
of  the  Spirit  of  truth,  renounced  the  de- 
lusions of  Romanism  for  the  surer  and  un- 
failing hope  of  salvation,  through  the  atone- 
ment of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  At  this 
time  the  meetings  were  held  at  nine  o'clock 
L  A.M.  on  the  Sabbath,  and  the  police  were 
stationed  by  the  governor  in  the  roads, 
and  at  Ur.  Kalley-s  door,  to  repulse  and 
drive  away  the  people  as  they  came,  fre- 
quently resorting  to  blows  for  that  purpose. 
To  avoid  this  the  people  came  at  seven, 
then  at  six,  and  last  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  the  police  following  them  as  they 
came  earlier  and  earlier.  Finally,  un- 
daunted by  opposition,  many  of  them  as- 
sembled at  the  doors  on  Saturday  night, 
determined  there  to  remain,  rather  than 
lose  the  blessed  privileges  of  the  Sabbath. 


:«.4 


ir^ 


186 


MAROAKET   ELIZABETH. 


M 


I      ' 


1    1 


'lii   I 


Legal  proceedings  were  then  instituted 
against  Dr.  Kalley,  but,  after  examining 
witnesses  to  the  number  of  forty,  the  case 
was  dismissed,  as  it  could  not  be  proved 
that  any  existing  law  of  Portugal  had  been 
violated. 

During  a  temporary  absence  of  the  judge 
from  the  island,  the  opportunity  was  eni" 
braced  of  reversing  the  sentence,  and  war- 
rants being  issued.  Dr.  Kalley  was  accord- 
ingly imprisoned  in  July,  1843.  During 
the  six  months  of  his  imprisonment,  his 
cell  was  crowded  daily  by  those  who  came, 
in  defiance  of  all  opposition,  as  anxious  in- 
quirers after  truth.  Having  succeeded  in 
partially  silencing  Dr.  Kalley,  at  least  for 
a  time,  a  pastoral  letter  was  read  from  all 
the  pulpits,  condemning,  as  unfaithful  and 
adulterated,  the  version  of  the  Scriptures 
circulated  by  this  faithful  missionary,  and 
excommunicating  all  who  should  continue 
to  read  it.  Having  obtained  a  copy  of  the 
Portuguese  Bible,  Dr.  Kalley  undertook  a 
diligent  examination  and  collation  of  the 
two,  in  which  he  discovered,  tliat  in  five 
thousand  verses,  there  were  only  seven 


i 


MARTYRS  OF  MADEIRA. 


187 


nstituted 
:amining 
the  case 
)  proved 
lad  been 

he judge 
was  em-' 
and  war- 
j  aceord- 
During 
lent,  his 
10  came, 
xions  m- 
eeded  in 
least  for 
from  all 
hful  and 
3riptures 
arj,  and 
continue 
3y  of  tlie 
ertook  a 
n  of  the 
t  in  five 
J  seven 


verses  in-which  the  versions  at  all  differed, 
and  these  differences  did  not  in  tlie  least 
affect  the  sense.  A  notice  to  the  Madei- 
renses,  stating  this,  was  then  published, 
g  and  placed  by  the  side  of  the  bishop's  let- 

ter on  the  church  doors.     Tiiis  notice  was 
not  without  its  effect  upon  the  people,  and 
^  many  copies  of  the  London  edition  were 

sold  by  colporteurs  throughout  the  island. 
I         In  the  gloom  of  the  Funchal  prison  we 
shall,  for  the  present,  take  our  leave  of  Dr. 
Kalley,  cheered  and  sustained  as  he  was, 
4         through  his  trying  imprisonment,  by  the 
consolations  of  religion,  and  the  smile  of 
the  Most  High  so  evidently  resting  upon 
his  labors.     Meanwhile  let  us  count  dearer 
than  ever,  those  precious  civil  and  religious 
privileges    which    are    preeminently    the 
birth-right  of  every  BritM  subject ;  pray- 
ing that,  should  the  blight  of  persecution 
ever  visit  our  shores,  our  faith  and  hope 
.      may  be  as  firm,  and  our  constancy  as  un- 
shaken, as  those  of  the  scattered  and  per- 
secuted Christians  of  Madeira. 

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188 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


NO.    II. 

Stand  fast  in  the  faith:  bold  apostles  have  died, 

With  the  words  on  their  lips,  careless  who  might  deride ; 

Confessors  and  martyrs,  raid  torture  and  flame, 

Have  drank  in  its  accents,  and  welcomed  the  '^^^^^'^^^^^^^^ 

"To   the   upright   there   ariseth   light  in 
the  darkness."     Such  is  the  unerring  utter- 
ance of  Him  who  ruleth  in  the  heavens, 
and  every  page  of  earth's  history  demon- 
strates its  truth.     When  the  furious  storm 
gathers  blackest  and  most  wrathful,  then 
is  it  that  the  heavy  clouds  part  asunder, 
and  from  their  murky  foldings  gleams 
forth  the  sure  light  of  hope  and  encourage- 
ment.    So  was  it  with  the  first  apostle  ot 
Madeira,  as  in  the  reoesses  of  the  prison  at 
Funchal,  he  gathered  around  him  his  per- 
ishing, undying  fellow-men, 

"  To  preach  to  them  of  Jesus." 

The  period  of  Dr.  Kalley's  imprisonment 
wore  heavily  away ;  months  passed  on, 
until  one  clear,  bright  day,  a  white  shadowy 
line,  like  the  snowy  wing  of  a  spirit,  gleamed 
in  the  distant  horizon.    Gradually  it  as- 


MARTYKS  OF  MADEIKA. 


189 


sumed  distinctness,  coming  nearer  and  yet 
nearer,  nntil  at  last  the  tall  ship,  with  the 
breeze  filling  her  sails,  rode  gallantly  into 
port.  It  brought  a  royal  mandate,  stating 
that  her  majesty,  the  Queen  of  Portugal, 
approving  of  the  edition  of  the  Bible  con- 
demned by  the  canons,  with  the  concur- 
rence of  the  patriarch  archbishop  elect, 
recommended  its  circulation  among  her 
subjects.  With  a  royal  order  before  their 
eyes,  the  inquisitorial  government  of  Ma- 
deira could  no  longer  be  justified  in  hold- 
ing Dr.  Kalley  in  imprisonment,  and  in 
January,  1844,  he  obtained  his  release. 
Sentence  was,  however,  obtained  in  De- 
cember of  the  same  year,  from  a  Lisbon 
court,  stating  that  a  prosecution  ought  to 
be  commenced  against  Dr.  Kalley  for 
promulgating  doctrines  contrary  to  the 
religion  of  the  state ;  and  some  days  after 
his  arrival  in  Funchal,  on  his  return  from 
a  visit  to  Lisbon,  warrants  were  again  is- 
sued for  his  apprehension,  in  conformity 
with  the  above  sentence.  He  was,  in  fact, 
a  prisoner  on  bail,  but  as  no  express  law 
of  Portugal  had  been  declared  to  be  vio- 


190 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


5' 

i 


i    i      » 


i«  I 


lated,  Ills  former  ministrations  of  love  were 
immediately  resumed.     He   was  shortly 
afterward  formally  warned  by  the  British 
Foreign  Secretary,  Lord  Aberdeen,  that 
the  Home  Government  wonld  not  support 
him  against  any  measures  which  might 
be  adopted  for  his  removal  from  Madeira, 
if  he  continued  his  meetings  for  worship. 
Reluctantly  did  Dr.  Kalley  perceive  that 
his  mission,  at  least  in  public,  to  the  be- 
nighted Madeirenses,  was  nearly  closed, 
and  that  now  the  hallowed  and  delightful 
task  must  be  resigned  into  other  hands. 
His  work  must  henceforth  be  prosecuted 
in  private,  or  else  at  the  certain  risk  of 
banishment  from  it  altogether ;  and  he  saw, 
that  though  partially  silenced,  it  would  be 
better  that  he  should  remain  in  Madeira, 
than  that,  by  proceeding  in  open  hostility 
to  the  government,  he  should  exile  himself 
forever  and  entirely  from   this  cherished 
field  of  labor.     Long  and  nobly  had  he 
toiled,  and  borne  the  burden  and  heat  of 
the  day,  and  the  full  fruit  of  his  labors 
who  may  now  tell  ?     "  The  day  shall  de- 
claret    Not  till  the  heavens  shall  have 


MARTYES  OF  MADEIRA. 


191 


were 
ortly 
ritish 
that 
pport 
flight 
ieira, 
rship. 
)  that 
e  be- 
losed, 
^htful 
Lands, 
cuted 
sk  of 
a  saw, 
lid  be 
,deira, 
stility 

imself 
rished 
ad  he 
eat  of 
labors 
xll  der 
[  have 


passed 


forevc 


the 


chronicles 

of  earth  are  brought  from  their  archives, 
all  hoary  with  the  dust  of  centuries,  and 
deciphered  in  the  full,  solemn  light  of 
eternity,  shall  the  fruit  which  has  sprung 
from  the  seed  sown  by  this  tireless  hus- 
bandman, be  told  into  the  garner  of  heaven. 
He  whose  eye  had  been  ever  on  him, 
through  all  his  toils  and  perils,  hao  now 
provided  for  him,  in  his  mercy,  a  successor, 
who  should  gather  into  one  fold  the  scat- 
tered sheep  wandering  over  the  hills  of 
Madeira.  This  was  the  Eev.  W.  PI.  He  wit- 
son,  a  young  Scottish  minister  of  high 
hopes  and  brilliant  promise,  who,  shortly 
after  the  close  of  his  ministry  in  this  sphere, 
at  the  age  of  thirty-eight,  "  slept  in  Jesus." 

"  He  died  young  ; 
But  there  are  silvered  heads  whose  race  of  duty  is  less 
nobly  run." 

Scarcely  had  the  doors  of  Dr.  Kalley's 
prison  been  thrown  open,  when  the  storm 
of  persecution  burst  forth  with  renew^ed 
violence  against  the  unoffending  Madei- 
renses.  "Twenty-two,"  says  Dr.  K.,  "of 
the  most  peaceable  and  well-behaved  men 


t-     .i 


,t 


11^- 


192 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


and  women  in  Madeira  were  taken  to 
Funchal,  in  the  Diana  frigate,  and  cast 
into  prison  among  the  most  depraved  and 
degraded.  Some  were  cruelly  beaten,  some 
were  stoned ;  three  houses  were  burned 
down,  two  others  set  on  fire,  and  all  com- 
plaint against  such  treatment  seemed  only 
to  bring  aggravated  injury  upon  the  suf- 
ferers. Still  they  were  not  only  patient 
and  resigned  in  such  circumstances,  but 
happy.  '  They  took  j  oy fully  the  spoiling 
of  their  goods,  knowing  that  in  heaven 
they  had  a  better  and  an  unfading  inherit- 
ance.' " 

At  last  the  sentence  of  arrest  and  con- 
demnation fell  with  terrible  effect  on  one 
who  had  placed  all  on  the  altar  of  sacrifice, 
and  who,  in  the  home  circle,  and  in  all  the 
walks  of  private  life,  beautifully  showed 
forth  every  holy  and  kindly  virtue  of  the 
Christian  faith.  Cradled  in  the  bosom  of 
the  Catholic  Church,  Maria  Joaquina  Alves 
had  forsaken  the  shelter  of  its  fold ;  and 
for  this,  the  unpardonable  sin,  the  laws  of 
incensed  and  outraged  bigotry  demanded 
her  death.     She  had  a  home  with  those  to 


MARTYRS  OF  MADEIRA. 


193 


en  to 
i  cast 
id  and 
5  some 
turned 
I  com- 
i  only 
le  suf- 
>atient 
3S,  but 
)oiling 
leaven 
iherit- 

d  con- 
)n  one 
jrifice, 
all  the 
bowed 
of  the 
lom  of 
Alves 
I;  and 
iws  of 
sanded 
lose  to 


whom  she  was  "the  light  of  the  eyes," 
the  youngest,  a  precious  babe,  on  whom 
life  was  just  opening;    yet  meekly  and 
uncomplainingly  slie  turned  at  the  oppress- 
or's bidding,  and  nerved  by  an  mifaltering 
hope,  which  the  world  knoweth  not,  she 
passed    those    gates,    whose    melancholy 
clang,  as  they  closed  upon  her,  told  that 
all  of  life  to  her  was  excluded.     Sixteen 
weary  months  did  she,  as  "the  prisoner 
of  the  Lord,"  keep  ceaseless  vigil  within 
that  home  of  misery,  when  she  was  at  last 
arraigned  before  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Madeira,  and  charged  with  apostasy,  her- 
esy, and  blasphemy.     AVe,  of  these  prov- 
inces, who  rejoice  in  the  glorious  privilege 
of  British  citizenship,  can  scarcely  realize 
the  sublimely-thrilling  spectacle  of  a  frag- 
ile, unprotected  woman,  standing,  in  all  the 
conscious  heroism  of  innocence,  before  the 
persecuting  tribunal  of  her  country,  with 
the  sweet  hopes  and  purposes  of  life  trem- 
bling in  her  own  hand.     The  words,  as  they 
fell  slowly  from   the  lips  of  the  judge, 
seemed  to  her  agitated  spirit  like  the  tones 
of  a  death-warrant.     "  Do  you  believe  the 


r 

W^^ll 

r  - 

.' 

1 
.1 

i 

ii 

1 

1 

1 

? 

^    *■ 

194: 


ISIAKGAEET   ELIZABETH. 


consecrated  host  to  be  the  real  body,  and 
the  real  blood,  and  the  human  soul  and 
divinity  of  Jesus  Christ?"  There  was  a 
liglit  in  her  fearless  eye,  and  a  calmness 
on  her  brow,  which  told  of  more  than 
earthly  strength,  as  the  feebleness  of  the 
woman,  and  the  deep  love  of  the  wife  and 
mother,  were  lost  in  the  triumph  of  the 
Christian  confessor,  and  she  replied,  ''Ida 
not  believe  it.^^  It  w^as  done  ;  the  spirit  of 
the  ancient  martyrs  lived  and  shone  in 
that  fiail  tabernacle.  Sentence  of  death 
was  immediately  pronounced,  and  must 
have  been  executed,  had  it  not  been  for  a 
technical  error  in  the  trial,  in  consequence 
of  which  it  was  commuted  by  the  Court 
of  Eela^ao  at  Lisbon. 


i 


THE  MAETYRS   OF  MADEIRA. 


195 


2 


NO  m. 

Stand  fast  ia  the  faith,  for  the  Church  of  the  Lord 
Hath  inscribed  on  her  banners  the  glorious  word : 
O'er  all  her  bright  cohorts,  its  glories  displayed, 
And  blazou'd  on  harness,  and  buckler,  and  blade. 

Stand  fast  in  the  faith ;  let  the  mandate  roll  on, 
Through  her  girded  battalions,  till  warfare  is  done ; 
Till  the  trumpet  of  conquest  sounds  over  the  field, 
And  the  palm  waveth  proudly  o'er  helmet  and  shield. 

Kev.  J.  W.  Browne. 

On  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Ilewitsou  in  Ma- 
deira, lie  forthwith  commenced  meeting  a 
small  number  of  inquirers  daily,  at  the 
residence  of  the  Eev.  J.    Julius  Wood. 
Unexampled  and  encouraging  as  was  his 
success  in  this  way,  his  incessant  labors 
were    most    exhausting    to    his    physical 
strength;    certainly  much  more  so   than 
preaching  in   the    usual    manner.      Day 
after  day,   at   all  hours,    his   room   was 
thronged  by  groups  of  attentive  listeners, 
with  whom  he  toiled  indefatigably  in  in- 
structing, exhorting,  and  encouraging  them. 
The  first  communion  which  he  held  was 
in  March,  1845,  when  about  forty  Portu- 
guese converts  surrounded  the  table  of 
the  Lord. 


<W"«'' 


M' 


A  , 


'  t 


H' 


.  I 


if 


'l     .11 


lll^i 


196 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


Meanwhile,  dark,  ominous  clouds  con- 
tinued yet  to  lower  in  the  liorizon,  and  ab- 
solute extermination  appeared  to  threaten 
the  infant  flock.  Still  a  wide  door  for  the 
entrance  of  Christian  truth  was  evidently 
opened  in  Madeira,  and  as  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  language  increased,  Mr. 
Hewitson  gradually  and  cautiously  com- 
menced preaching  in  Portuguese.  "  Many 
of  the  converts,"  wrote  Mr.  Hewitson,  at 
this  period,  to  a  Scottish  friend,  ^'  have, 
through  reading  and  prayer,  become  in- 
telligent and  enlightened  members  of 
society,  able  to  give  to  all  that  ask  them  a 
clear  and  distinct  reason  of  the  hope  that 
is  in  them.  The  apprehension  which  they 
have  generally  of  the  way  of  salvation  is 
extremely  simple,  and  their  confidence 
in  Christ  very  childlike.  Some  of  them 
seem  to  be  altogether  free  from  doubts 
and  fears,  and  filled  with  joy  and  peace 
in  believing." 

Mr.  Hewitson's  delightful  labors,  prose- 
cuted though  they  often  were  under  the 
sheltering  mantle  of  night,  were  at  last 
suspended  by  a  most  severe  and  complete 


THE  MARTYKS  OF   MADEIRA. 


197 


(Is  con- 
and  ab- 
hreaten 

for  the 
ddently 
tquaint- 
id,  Mr. 
y  com- 
"  Many 
tson,  at 
"  have, 
)rne  in- 
fers of 
them  a 
pe  that 
3h  they 
ation  is 
fidence 
f  them 

doubts 
[  peace 

,  prose- 
ler  the 
at  last 
mplete 


prostration  of  strength,  from  the  efi'ects  of 
which  it  was  long  before  he  recovered.    In 
this  dark  hour  of  trial,  the  Lord  Jesus  was 
present  with  his  suffering  servant,  shield- 
ing and  sustaining,  and  giving  "  songs  in 
the  night."     So  soon  as  his  strength  per- 
mitted, Mr.  Hewitson  resumed  his  labors ; 
but  in  the  hope  of  eluding  the  animosity 
and  vigilance  of  his  enemies,  he  materially 
changed  his  plan  of  operations.     Commit- 
ting the  public  ministrations  of  the  word, 
almost    exclusively,    to    native    assistant 
ministers,  he  commenced  the  organization 
of  a  class  of  the  most  promising  Portuguese 
converts,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  them 
such  systematic  theological  instruction,  as 
should  qualify  them  for  discharging  the 
functions   of  catechists.     Very  pleasant 
would  it  be  to  trace  Mr.  Hewitson  in  his 
interesting  labors  among  this  blessed  little 
group,  but  our  limits  compel  us  to  hasten 
to  the  concluding  part  of  our  narrative. 

He  continued  his  course  of  exposition 
to  his  catechumen  class,  undisturbed  except 
once,  when  one  of  the  class,  while  paying 
a  visit  to  a  friend  who  was  suffering  im- 


198 


MAKGAEET   ELIZABETH. 


(! 


I  i 

n 


'.I 


prisonment,  was  forcibly  seized  and  him- 
self imprisoned  on  the  charge  of  heresy. 
In  April,  having  finished  the  course  of 
lectures  to  his  students,  Mr.  Ilewitson  pre- 
pared to  leave  Madeira  for  some  months, 
hoping  that  on  his  return  circumstances 
might  prove  more  favorable  for  the  prose- 
cution of  the  work  to  which  he  had  given 
his  life.     Previo»6  to  his  departure,  after 
careful  examination,  he  proceeded  to  ordain 
several  elders  and  deacons,  "  to  conduct 
the  meetings  and  regulate  the  business  of 
the  little  Church  during  his  absence."    In 
May,  1846,  Mr.  Plewitson  left  Madeira, 
cherishing  the  most  pleasing  anticipations 
of  soon  returning,  to  agani  labor  among 
his  beloved  people.     But,  alas!  he  whose 
"  way  is  in  the  whirlwind,  and  his  path  in 
the  great  waters,"  had  otherwise  ordain- 
ed, and  in  the   counsels  of  the  Eternal, 
other  and  better  things  were  yet  written 
for  Madeira.     The  fearful  tempest  which 
had  so  often  darkened  and  glared  on  the 
brow  of  night,  was  now  to  burst  in  terri- 
ble fury. upon  the  defenseless  heads  of 
these  smitten  and  scattered  ones. 


THE  MARTYRS   OF   MADEIRA. 


199 


One  calm,  bright  Sabbath  inorning,  in 
the  month  of  August,  as  between  thirty 
and  forty  of  the  converts  were  assembled 
for  prayer  and  reading  of  the  word,  a  mob 
surrounded  the  door,  and  when  they  were 
about  retiring,  rudely  assaulted  the  elder, 
who  had  been  conducting  service.  This 
proved  the  signal  for  a  general  attack 
upon  the  house.  The  doors  were  immedi- 
ately closed,  and  those  within,  seeking  the 
most  sequestered  room  in  the  building, 
prepared  to  abide  the  fury  of  the  storm. 
Throughout  the  whole  day,  the  infuriate 
band  surrounded  the  house,  threatening 
to  burn  it  to  ^he  ground,  and  demanding 
instant  admission.  At  last,  as  the  noon  of 
night  was  closing  in,  the  door  yielded  to 
repeated  blows,  and  with  one  exulting 
yell,  the  assailants  rushed  into  the  house. 
Search  was  instantly  made  for  their  trem- 
bling victims,  who,  in  a  remote  room, 
were  discovered  all  on  their  knees,  in 
earnest  and  fervent  prayer.  What  a 
scene  !  Surely  the  pure  dwellers  in  **  the 
land  of  everlasting  light"  must  have 
grazed   on   in    wonder;    there   were   the 


i  " 


200 


MAKGAKET   ELIZABETH. 


savage  persecutors,  exulting  in  conscious 
triumph,  and  by  their  side  the  meek  fol- 
lowers of  the  Man  of  Calvary,  breathing 
out,  like  their  great  exemplar,  a  life  of 
agony  in  the  earnest  accents  of  prayer. 
"We  draw  a  vail  over  the  details  of  the 
heartrending  scenes  of  '  his  period.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  that  many  of  these  rejoicing  be- 
lievers were  called  upon  to  seal  the  truth 
with  their  blood,  and,  like  those  of  olden 
time,  yield  up  their  lives  to  him  who  had 
purchased  them  with  his  own  blood.  They 
passed  through  great  tribulation,  and  are 
now  doubtless  before  the  eternal  throne, 
"having  washed  their  robes  and  made 
them  white  in  the  l)lood  of  the  Lamb." 

Dr.  Kalley  was,  however,  the  especial 
object  of  pursuit,  -and  had  his  place  of 
retreat  been  discovered,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  his  life  would  have  fallen  a 
sacrifice  to  lawless  violence.  But  he  was 
in  the  care  of  Him  who  suflfereth  not  the 
tenants  of  the  air  to  perish  unnoticed ; 
and  he  was  enabled,  though  almost  mi- 
raculously, to  make  his  escape  from  the 
island  in  a  steamer  which  \:as  then  leav- 


)nscioii8 
eek  fol- 
eathing 
life  of 
prayer, 
of  the 
SuflSce 
jing  be- 
le  truth 
f  olden 
ho  had 
.    They 
and  are 
throne, 
made 
nb." 
ispecial 
ace  of 
5   little 
alien  a 
he  was 
lot  the 
Dticed ; 
)3t  mi- 
>m  the 
1  leav- 


t'4 
fl 


I 


^^^I^K'   '^ 

m 

m 

j^^H 

■b 

1 

^^^^^^^^  -^ 

III 

^^^^^K'-' 

h    ■ 

^^^^^■'' 

-,    ■   '  ' 



H§i  ^ 

:■ 

■• 

.       ■         1 
it 

j  i 

" 


WBD  :i)tKffl»-  "■'vga^fg^'"^  >:. 


THE   MARTYRS   OF   MADEIRA. 


203 


ing  the  harbor.  At  last,  hunted  and  pur- 
sued with  unrelenting  ardor  by  their  blood- 
thirsty enemies,  the  Madeirean  Church  of 
God  sought  refuge,  to  the  number  of  eight 
hundred,  in  the  island  of  Trinidad,  where 
the  fair  banner  of  England,  floating  on 
the  breeze,  tells  that  liberty  of  conscience 
is  enjoyed  wherever  Britain  reigns. 

In  Trinidad  this  band  of  noble  wit- 
nesses for  the  Lord  Jesus  were  cheered  by 
a  visit  from  their  former  beloved  pastor, 
Mr.  Hewitson,  who,  on  hearing  of  their 
exile,  once  more  left  his  native  land  to 
minister  consolation  to  the  aiflicted  spirit, 
and  build  up  this  desolate,  scattered 
Church.  Afterward  arrangements  were 
made,  through  the  promptly-extended  aid 
of  the  American  Churches,  for  the  re- 
moval of  the  Church  of  refugees  to  the 
State  of  Illinois,  where,  after  some  neces- 
sary delay,  they  arrived,  and  were  organiz- 
ed into  a  regularly- constituted  Church. 
There,  in  the  enjoyment  of  that  liberty 
and  security  which  should  be  the  birth- 
right of  every  human  being,  we  shall  leave 
them ;  and,  as  we  take  our  parting  glance, 


?  'J 

i  'I 

I  ill 

i 


'F 


I 


)    I 


lii' 


1% 


y  I 


204 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


in  view  of  their  suflFerings,  their  faith,  and 
their  future  glorious  inheritance,  exclaim, 
"  They  overcame  him  by  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb,  and  by  the  word  of  their  testimony, 
and  they  loved  not  their  lives  unto  the 
death." 

"  There  were  men  -with  hoary  hair 

Among  that  pilgrim  band ; 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there 

Away  from  their  childhood^j  land  ? 

*'  There  was  woman^'3  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth  ; 
There  was  manhood's  brow  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

•♦  What  sought  they  thus  afar^ 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war  ? 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine. 

"  Ay !  call  it  holy  ground, 
The  place  where  first  they  trod ; 

They  have  left  unstain'd  what  there  they  found, 
Freedom  to  worship  God." 
May  26,  1853. 


AN   OWRE  TRUE   TALE. 


205 


"AN  OWRE  TRUE  TALE/' 

All  droopingly  she  lieth  like  a  dew-laden  lily. 

M.  F.  TuPrBR. 

Consumption!  child  of  woe,  thy  blighting  breath 
Marks  all  that's  fair  and  lovely  for  thine  own; 

And  sweeping  o'er  the  silver  chords  of  life, 
Blends  all  their  music  in  one  death-like  tone. 

M.  M.  Davidson. 

Ever  bright  and  precious  is  the  frail 
gift  of  life  to  man.  Even  he  who,  in  the 
dark  convict  cell,  catches  but  gleams  of 
the  free,  glorious  sunlight,  and  on  whose 
brow  the  soft  winds  play  only  through  the 
narrow  grating,  clings  to  life  with  death-like, 
though  despairing  grasp.  Who  then  may 
tell  its  deep,  priceless  worth  to  those  who, 
amid  the  golden  privileges  of  a  Christian 
land,  the  high  purposes  and  activities  of 
youth,  and  the  kindly  charities  and  over- 
flowing love  of  the  household  band, 
breathe  forth  an  existence,  all  hope  and 
all  joy?  Yet  even  they  may  not  live  al- 
ways ;  one  by  one  they  leave  us,  until  he 
that  woiild  gather  around,  him  the  glad 

13 


^■ 


'I 


ii 


206 


MARGAKET  ELIZABETH. 


companionship  of  early  life,  must  look  to 
another  and  an  eternal  city. 

Even  now  memory,  from  her  olden  rec- 
ords, tells  of  one  on  whom  the  grave  hath 
long  since  closed.  Bright  and  beautiful, 
a  spirit  overflowing  with  gladness,  the 
very  impersonation  of  life  and  loveliness, 
that 

"  Warrior  in  somber  harness  maiFd, 

Dreaded  of  man,  and  surnamed  the  Destroyer," 

claimed  her  in  her  beauty ;  and  when  she 
knew  it  not,  she  was  sinking,  slowly  but 
surely,  into  the  depths  of  eternity.  And 
yet  none  might  dare  to  tell  her ;  none 
might  give  one  note  of  warning  to  the 
joyous,  unconscious  being.  They  feared 
to  chill  all  her  bright,  budding  blossoms 
of  joy,  and,  with  one  terrible  word,  bring 
anguish  and  desolation  to  that  buoyant 
spirit.     Not  till  the  latest  sands 

"  Of  Time's  most  frail  and  brittle  glass" 

were  falling  one  by  one,  was  the  vail  lifted, 
and  the  bitter  truth  unfolded  ;  and  as  some 
richly-freighted  argosie  lends  her  fragrance 


AN   OWEE  TKUE  TALE. 


207 


ook  to 

m  rec- 
e  hath 
Lutiful, 

5S,  the 
jlincss. 


)yer 


y> 


en  she 

ly  but 

And 

;  none 

to  the 

feared 

Lossoms 

,  bring 

uoyant 


;s 


V 


1  lifted, 
IS  some 
igrance 


to  the  winds,  so  all  the  unuttered  glorious 
revealings  of  another  land  came  to  her 
stricken  soul,  in  dim,  solemn  accents, 
borne  on  the  passing  breeze.  But,  alas ! 
those  unerring  harbingers  came  not  to  her 
in  tones  of  gladness ;  she  had  not  that  earn- 
est, trustful,  abiding  faith  in  the  Crucified 
which,  turning  meekly  from  the  wreck  of 
earthly  hopes,  fixes  calm,unblenching  gaze 
upon  the  fathomless  future,  and,  even 
amid  the  thick  glooms  of  the  "  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death,"  breathes  unfalter- 
ingly, ^^  Therefore  will  1  fear  no  evil^for 
Thoib  art  loith  meP  Even  now,  when 
gleams  of  light  from  another  land  rested 
on  her  brow,  turning  from  the  fount  of 
living  waters,  her  worn  spirit  sought  for 
rest  in  the  gairish  dreams  and  mocking 
pageantry  of  earth.  The  halls,  where  the 
young  and  the  fair  move  lightly  to  the 
sound  of  gushing  melody,  still  held  their 
charms  for  her;  and  even  when,  at  last, 
the  chill  grasp  of  disease  bound  her  fading 
form  to  the  dying  couch,  the  death  damps 
mantled  her  fair  check,  and  the  light  of 
reason  gleamed  but  feebly,  strains  of  wild, 


I    I 


I  +  -7     t- 


208 


MAKGAREI    ELIZABETH. 


unhallowed  song,  trembled  on  her  uncon- 


scious lips. 


•je- 


^ 


■3f 


* 


^ 


^ 


A  long,  bright  day  in  August  had  passed, 
and  when  night  came,  still,  solemn  night, 
the  mother,  as  she  gave  her  precious  charge 
to  a  faithful  watcher's  care,  left  lier  with 
hope  yet  living  in  her  boso'u.  Slowly 
waned  the  night,  when,  as  the  hour  of 
midnight  drew  on,  that  strange,  mystic 
hour,  when  the  shadows  that  vail  mortality 
from  life  seem  to  fade  into  transparence, 
and  the  thronged  pathway  to  eternity 
stands  open,  the  mother  woke  with  a  chill 
at  her  heart.  Witli  a  prophetic  whisper 
in  her  ear,  she  sped  her  way  to  the  couch 
of  the  dying.  Change  was  there.  She 
lay  back  upon  her, pillow,  the  dark,  rich 
masses  of  unbound  hair  falling  on  her 
shoulders,  the  burning  rose-tint  faded 
from  her  cheek,  and  the  pale,  chiseled 
features  beautiful  even  in  death.  The 
faint  breath  was  coming  feebly ;  the  dark, 
lustrous  eyes  gave  no  sign  of  recognition, 
but  with  wild,  fitful  brilliancy,  roved  cease- 
lessly around ;  and,  as  if  the  wrecked  and 


AN   OWR?:   TKUE   TALE. 


209 


ricli 


wandering  mind  yet  lived  among  the 
scenes  of  other  days,  the  cold,  white  lips 
murmured  the  words  of  a  popular  air. 
With  all  her  own  yearning  love  and  agony, 
the  mother  strove  to  pour  upon  the  un- 
conscious ear  the  words  of  life,  and  point 
the  parting  spirit  to  the  Lamb  of  God. 
Yain  and  hopeless  all !  Fixing  upward 
her  flashing,  restless  eyes,  she  breathed 
forth,  "  O'er  the  sea  in  my  fairy  boat ;" 
then  turning  one  glance  upon  the  stricken 
mother,  she  passed  away. 

Strange,  mocking  words !  Not  more  fear- 
fully jarring  and  dissonant  was  the  dying 
Ute  d^armee  of  the  imperial  captive,  who 
breathed  his  life  forth  upon  an  ocean  isle, 
than  were  the  last  tremulous  tones  of 
that  fair  girl, 

"  O^er  the  sea  in  my  fairy  boat." 
September  14,  1853. 


■ft*/ 1 


210 


MAIJOARET  KLIZABETH. 


A  LEAF  FROM  LIFE. 

In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  In  death.— Burial  Serviob. 

The  autumn  wind  sighs  mournfully  to- 
night over  hill-side  and  valley,  making 
melancholy  music  through  the  sere  and 
russet  leaflets  as  they  fall,  weaving  a  rich, 
fleeting:  coronal  for  the  brow  of  the  ancient 
earth.  The  stars,  those  pale,  quenchless 
watchers  over  a  stricken  world,  are  gazing 
down  calmly  and  brightly,  as  on  the  night 
when  first  their  ceaseless  march  began. 
Tliey  shall  know  no  change  until  the  day 
when  this  earth,  with  all  its  gorgeousness 
and  glory,  shall  fade  away  before  the 
breath  of  the  "  high. and  lofty  One  that  in- 
habiteth  eternity." 

It  was  just  such  a  night  as  this,  years 
ago,  when  the  Laird  of  Ivedale,  in  the 
north  of  Scotland,  with  his  household 
group,  gathered  around  the  hearth-stone 
in  the  ruddy  firelight.  He  was  yet  in  the 
full  prime   of  manhood,    with   scarce   a 

cLtnlnvr     nn     In'c;     iirIp.     thonP'htfnl     In'OW. 


A   LEAF  FROM  LIFE. 


211 


and 


save  when  the  remembrance  of  the  exist- 
ing feud  between  himself  and  the  chieftain 
of  a  neighboring  clan,  brought  with  it  the 
regret  which  was  deep  but  unavailing. 
They  were  a  joyous  group  that  night;  so 
thought  the  father,  as  he  glanced  from 
the  fair  wife  and  gentle  girl  at  his  side,  to 
where  a  bright  boy,  just  merging  into 
youth,  mingled  in  the  gayer  sport  of  the 
little  pet  of  the  circle,  whose  merry  laugh- 
ter, as  he  shook  his  curls  in  defiant  mis- 
chief, rang  loud  and  long  throughout  the 
room.  They  lingered  together  till  late, 
and  as  the  old  house  clock  sounded  the 
hour  of  ten  they  had  not  separated,  when 
a  low  knock  without  announced  that  the 
presence  of  the  laird  was  demanded,  and 
withdrew  him  for  a  moment  from  their 
circle.  Their  mirth  seemed  partially  to 
subside  with  his  departure,  and  gathering- 
closer  to  the  ingleside,  they  awaited  his 
return.  The  night  was  calm  and  clear, 
and  as  they  listened  they  could  hear  dis- 
tinctly the  dash  of  oars  on  the  distant  lake. 
An  hour  glided  on;  the  baby -boy  had 
sought  repore  in  slumber,  and  gradually 


r..  i  \ 


It  I 


t    i  3 


212 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


all  sound  died  away,  except  the  voice  of 
the  breeze,  as  it  swayed  to  and  fro  the  tall, 
leafless  trees  around  the  old  mansion.  It 
had  a  moiirnful  sound,  which  went  to  the 
heart  of  the  Lady  of  Ivedale  as  she  rose, 
and,  going  to  the  window,  listened  anx- 
iously for  coming  footsteps.  All  was  silent, 
except  the  rapid  dash  of  oars,  which  grew 
fainter  and  fainter  in  the  distance,  and  the 
glimmering  of  lights  on  the  opposite  shore 
could  just  be  discerned. 

Long  and  eagerly  they  waited,  but  he 
came  not  back  to  them ;  darkness  merged 
into  twilight,  and  twilight  deepened  into 
dawn,  and  found  that  pale,  listening  group 
watching  out  the  bright  stars,  as  each  pass- 
ing footfall  roused  the  hope  yet  slumbering 
in  their  hearts.  Slowly  but  surely  camo 
the  agonizing  suspicion  to  the  heart-broken 
wife  and  mother,  that  he  who  left  their 
midst  so  suddenly  on  that  joyous  night, 
had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  remorseless 
vengeance  of  his  treacherous  foe.  Bitter- 
ly did  the  fearful  wailing  of  grief  go  up 
to  the  eternal  throne  from  that  desolate 
and  Mricken  band  ;  the  joy  and  glory  of 


A  LEAF   B^ROM   I.TFE. 


213 


life  had  fled  forever;  and  though  a  vail  of 
impenetrable  mystery  shrouded  the  fate  of 
him  they  mourned  and  sought  for,  through 
life  they  cherished  the  fond  hope  of  his 
re-appearance. 

But,  alas !  the  Laird  of  Ivedale  looked 
his  last,  that  fatal  night,  upon  those  he 
bved,  and  his  presence  gladdened  not 
again  hearth  or  hall. 

Years  had  passed,  the  lady-  of  Ivedale 
had  slept  in  death,  and  the  ancient  halls 
were  crumbling  to  decay,  when  the  re- 
mains of  the  long-lost  laird  were  found  in 
a  solitary  cave,  far  on  the  eastern  coast, 
where  the  dark,  restless  sea  foamed  against 
1  ds  pripon,  and  where  now  that  fearful  home 
bears  the  name  of  the  Cave  of  Ivedale. 

November  f  1853. 


m 
if] 


m'mmmmmm^mam'  vmiimimmm. 


mmf^ 


214 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


STRAY  THOUGHTS. 

Sunbeam  of  summer!  O,  what  is  like  thee? 

Hope  of  the  wilderness,  joy  of  tlie  sea  I 

One  thing  is  like  thee  to  mortals  given, 

The  faith  touching  all  things  with  hues  of  heaven. 

FiiLiciA  Hemans. 

Twilight  is  purpling  all  the  eastern  hills 
with  hei'  fading  radiance ;  fair,  fleeting 
clouds  of  crimson  and  amber  float  like 
gorgeous  banners  round  the  sinking  sun. 
The  glory  of  the  departing  sunlight  man- 
tles the  tiny,  green-wood  spray,  amid  the 
ancient  forest  trees,  and  pours  its  luster 
alike  on  the  "  halls  from  old  heroic  ag-es 
gray,"  and  the  cabin  by  the  wayside. 
Yet  an  hour,  and  all  shall  be  girded  with 
the  solemn  darkness  of  night. 

So  passing  and  changeful  is  this  life. 
Time  lays  his  hoary  finger  on  our  heart- 
treasures,  and  they  wither.  They  who 
"grow  in  beauty  side  by  side,  and  fill 
one  home  with  glee,"  abide  not  evermore 
beneath  the  shade  of  the  ancestral  roof- 


■ 


STRAY   THOUGHTS. 


215 


n. 
Remans. 

1  hills 
eeting 
,t  like 
g  sun. 
man- 
id  the 
luster 
I  ages 
yside. 
I  with 

5  life. 
Iieart- 

who 
d  fill 
•more 

roof- 


t/ee.  The  spoiler  enters  the  earth-home, 
and  lo !  the  brow  once  so  fair  in  its  infant- 
ine beauty,  is  mantled  with  the  heavy 
dews  of  death.  So  the  fair  bud  with  the 
petals  yet  unfolded,  fades  away  from  us. 
Then  the  monition  of  high  duty  and  holy 
privilege  calls  another  forth  to  gird  on 
the  armor,  and  battle  earnestly,  manfully 
in  that  sacramental  host,  whose  watch- 
word is,  God  with  us. 

Life  hath  even  its  turmoil  and  its  change, 
yet  all  over  the  wide  globe,  in  the  cabinet 
of  the  diplomatist,  amid  the  roar  and  din 
of  the  battle-field,  or  on  the  lonely  island, 
girt  with  the  crested  surge,  the  hope,  the 
anticipation  of  one  glimpse  at  the  small 
remnant  that  yet  form  the  home  circle,  is 
the  green,  fragrant  spot  in  the  heart;  the 
ever-gushing  spring  of  gladness  to  the 
fainting,  "  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in 
a  weary  land."  Even  so  hath  the  Father 
above  ordained,  that  all  glad  and  glorious 
homes  of  earth  should  image  forth  faintly, 
yet  truthfully,  the  home  on  high. 

Yet  even  with  us,  whose  lofty  hopes  and 
aspirations  should  center  in  our  Father's 


I  ,r: 


s'*0% 


I 


i 


''f 


i' 


4 


216 


MARGARET   ELIZABP^TH. 


house,  does  not  earthly  care  and  purpose, 
and  earthly  desire,  so  dim  the  vision  of 
our  spirits,  that  we  live  almost  forgetful 
of  our  priceless  inheritance  ?  Is  there  not 
cause  to  ask  now  in  this  holy  hour  of 
evening,  when  the  stars,  the  solemn  senti- 
nels of  night,  are  gazing  on  us,  and  when, 
through  the  stillness,  we  can  almost  catch 
the  parting  notes  of  the  triumph-song  of 
the  white-robed  harpers  in  that  far-off  land, 
Do  we  believe,  we  who,  in  virtue  of  the 
blood  once  poured  out  for  us  on  the  mount- 
ain-top, claim  the  Unsearchable  as  our 
father,  and  the  Eternal  Spirit  as  our  sanc- 
tifier,  really^  mdividually  believe,  that 
beyond  the  sun  and  stars,  separated  from 
us  even  now,  only  by  the  shadows  of  mor- 
tality, there  is  for  u^  a  home^  pure,  glori- 
ous, abiding?  that  to-night,  while  earth  is 
all  care,  and  toil,  and  fear,  and  change, 
we  who  have  stolen  away  alike  from  its 
revelry  and  its  grief,  may  look  up,  and 
with  the  eagle-gaze  of  calm,  earnest  faith, 
view  the  unfading  glories  of  that  land 
of  everlasting  light?  If  so,  why  should 
the  unhallowed,  unsanctified  thoughts  and 


MEMOKIES  OF  THE  YEAK. 


217 


rpose, 
on  of 
getful 
re  not 
iir  of 
senti- 
when, 
catch 
ng  of 
'land, 
)f  the 
lonnt- 
3  our 
sanc- 

that 
from 
'  mor- 
glori- 
rth  is 
ange, 
m  its 
,  and 
faith, 

land 
lionki 
s  and 


dreams   of  earth   any  more  enwrap  our 
spirits? 

"  This  is  the  hope,  the  blessed  hope, 
Which  Jesus  Christ  hath  given ; 
The  hope  when  days  and  years  are  past, 
We  all  shall  meet  in  heaven." 


MEMORIES  OF  THE  YEAR. 

"  Unto  the  pale,  the  perish'd  past, 
Another  year  hath  darkly  flown, 
And  viewless  as  the  winged  blast, 

Hath  come  and  gone. 
Gone  with  its  fond  and  fairy  dreams, 

Gone  with  its  feverish  hopes  and  fears, 
Gone  with  its  blossoms  and  its  beams, 
Its  smiles  and  tears/' 

December,  dark  and  hoary,  is  once  more 
speeding  past  us  with  the  fleet  and  noise- 
less tread  of  a  spirit.  Yet  a  httle,  and  he 
too  shall  be  gathered  among  the  annals  of 
the  unreturning  past;  this  year,  whose 
autumn  magnificence  is  almost  yet  linger- 
ing on  our  hill-sides,  shall  have  gone  to 
slumber  with  its  countless  brethren,  and 
another,  in  whose  mysterious  mantle  our 
web  of  destiny  we  may  trace  but  dimly 


218 


MARf  4RET   ELIZABETH. 


woven,  shall  grasp  the  scepter  of  the  de- 
parted monarch.  How  mournfully  come 
to  us  the  closing  days  of  the  year!  like 
the  sealing  up  of  another  portion  of  the 
book  of  Time,  no  more  to  be  opened  till 
the  recording  angel  shall  make  known 
the  revealings  of  eternity. 

Since  the  shadows  of  last  December 
gathered  around  our  pathway,  what 
untold  change  for  weal  or  woe  hath 
graven  its  impress  on  the  brow  of  earth ! 
Homes  are  desolate  that  then  were  joyous, 
and  we  miss  the  gushing  melody  of  tones 
that  once  rang  lightly  on  the  air.  The 
grave  hath  won  them  to  its  dreamless 
slumber,  and  those  who  yet  linger  on  an 
earthly  sliore  are  "  severed  far  and  wide  " 
from  the  olden  home ;  some  are  dwellers 
on  a  lonely  isle  of  the  deep,  and  some 
sojourners  in  another  and  a  distant  home, 
to  gather  amid  3^oung  and  joj^ous  groups 
around  the  festal  fires.  To  them  thoughts 
of  home,  whether  that  home  be  the  bright, 
sunny  south,  or  a  sterner,  colder  clime, 
shall  link  themselves  with  the  closing 
memories  of  the  year. 


MEMORIES   OF   THE   YEAR. 


219 


To  some  near  our  own  homes  this  year 
hath  brought  a  tale  of  woe  undreamed  of.^ 
The  brave  and  true,  the  young  and  fair, 
they  for  whom  the  bridal  wreath  was 
waiting,  have  gone  down  to  the  hollow 
caves  of  the  unslumbering  main,  and  to  a 
far-distant  shore  went  forth  the  tidings 
that  she  for  whom  hope  and  love  had  kept 
expectant  vigil,  had  gone  to  win  a  coronal 
charigeless  and  unfading.  We  may  not 
rear  the  storied  marble  to  point  the  spot 
where  earthly  hope  faded  forever  from 
that  desolate,  perishing  group,  as  their 
frail  bark  buffeted  in  vain  the  wrathful 
waters,  and  their  anguished  cry  for  succor 
met  with  a  stern  repulse  ;  the  wild  waves 
must  sweep  above  them  for  ever  and  aye ; 
yet  when  the  sea  shall  restore  its  wealth 
of  lost  and  buried  treasures,  the  melody 
of  their  voices  shall  swell  the  solemn 
psalmody  of  the  w^hite-robed  host,  who 
chant  for  evermore.  Alleluia!  the  Lord 
God  omnipotent  reigneth ! 

Far  over  the  bright  waters,  who  can 
number  the  changes  of  this  year?    The 

'^  AUading  to  the  loss  of  the  steamer  "  Fairy  Queen." 


It  ^ 

It  <' 


220 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


crown  hatli  fallen  from  some,  and  royalty 
hath  gone  to  dwell  among  the  shadows  of 
the  tomb.  The  potent  name  of  Bonaparte 
yet  sways  the  hearts  of  those  who  tread 
the  vine-clad  hills  of  France,  and  a  young 
and  gentle  girl  has  left  "  the  home  of  her 
childhood's  mirth"  to  gladden  those  impe- 
rial halls,  where  once  moved,  in  equal 
grace  and  loveliness,  the  first  and  early 
bride  of  the  exiled  Napoleon. 

Farther  east  the  interest  deepens,  as 
we  watch,  with  breathless  awe,  the  progress 
of  the  fearful  struggle  upon  the  plains  of 
Turkey.  Who  may  hear  the  moanings  of 
the  storm  that  is  sweeping  over  the  thrones 
of  Europe,  and  read  the  meaning?  Should 
not  our  prayers  go  up  on  high,  that  amid 
the  fierce  blasts  of  the  tempest, 

"  The  flag  that  braved  a  thousand  years, 
The  battle  and  the  breeze," 

may  yet  wave  triumphantly  and  peacefully 
over  all  who  bear  the  name  of  Briton  ? 

Near  the  close  of  the  dying  year,  as  if 
to  cheer  us  in  our  sadness,  comes  the  olden, 
hallowed   festival  of  Christmas.     Would 


fh 


MEMORIES   OF  THE   YEAR. 


221 


>yalty 
ws  of 
iparte 
tread 
^oung 
)f  her 
impe- 
equal 
early 

as,  as 
)gress 
ns  of 
igs  of 
irones 
hoiild 
amid 


that  on  that  day  every  household  chain 
were  without  a  broken  link  !  We  welcome 
it  joyously  as  ever.  Our  city  homes  will 
don  their  livery  of  gladness,  and  could  we 
glance  upon  the  bright  groups,  some  of 
them  far  away,  whose  memory  is  ever 
blended  with  our  thoughts  of  joy,  it  would 
gild  the  hours  of  Christmas  with  another 
charm.  But  it  may  not  be :  we  only  awake 
from  building  Ghliteaux  en  Espagne  to  find 
reality  more  bitter,  and  thus,  though  far 
distant  from  that  charmed  oasis  in  the  wil- 
derness, home,  we  look  with  gladness  for 
the  return  of  that  day,  on  which  He  who 
dwelleth  in  light  which  no  man  can  ap- 
proach unto,  came  to  cheer  and  bless  by 
his  presence  a  perishing  and  stricken 
world. 

December  19,  1853. 

14 


3fully 
n? 
as  if 
)lden, 
i^ould 


222 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


GREETINGS  FOR  THE  ABSENT. 

The  Lord  watch  between  me  and  thco  when  we  are  absent  one 
from  another.— IIoiA'  Scripture. 

Ever  true  and  touching  words !  Beautiful 
at  all  times  as  they  seem,  it  is  only  when 
time,  and  change,  and  distance  sever  us 
from  the  well-beloved  and  true,  that  they 
come  to  the  lonely  heart  as  a  holy  spell 
that  shall  guard,  pure  and  undimmed,  the 
love  we  cherish  for  the  absent. 

Life  is  changing  ever,  and  we  tread  its 
toilsome  paths  sometimes  but  wearily  ;  the 
spirit  turns  alike  from  its  brightness  and 
its  gloom,  its  revelry  and  grief.  How 
sadly  then  we  yearn  for  a  familiar  voice, 
for  the  smile  that  once  was  ours,  and  the 
bright  group  now  so  far,  far  distant.  We 
may  not  win  them  back  to  us ;  death,  per- 
chance, hath  taken  the  lost  jewels  to  glit- 
ter in  his  own  pale  coronal,  and  some,  in 
another  clime,  are  swelling  the  ranks  of 
those  who  press  onward  in  the  ever-hurry- 
ing "  battle  of  life*"     But  as  we  weary  for 


GEEETINOS   FOR  THE  ABSENT.  223 


per- 


their  coming,  liow  precious  are  the  words, 
sounding  as  they  do  from  the  dim,  solemn 
past,  centuries  ago,  "  The  Lord  watch  be- 
tween me  and  thee  when  %oe  are  absent  one 
from  another y 

Many  years  have  swept  on  since  one 
went  forth,  with  the  flush  of  hope  upon 
his  cheek,  and  a  mother's  blessing  on  his 
brow,  to  the  isles  of  the  southern  seas,  to 
tell  the  story  of  the  cross.  He  left,  in  his 
fair  English  home,  a  mother,  whose  life 
w^as  twined  with  his,  yet  when  his  glance 
w^as  turned  upon  those  who  were  "  ready 
to  perish,"  she  chased  the  anguish  from  her 
heart,  and  the  tear-drop  from  her  eye,  that 
he  might  win  souls  for  Jesus.  He  went  to 
those  whom  darkness  covered  as  a  pall, 
and  a  fearful  shadow,  as  of  the  grave, 
rested  on  each  undying  spirit.  He  toiled 
with  them,  and  told  them  of  the  matchless 
love  of  Him  who  gave  his  life  a  ransom 
for  many,  and  of  the  bright  home  which 
waits  for  all  who  love  him,  and  they  mar- 
velled. He  lingered  there,  till  a  voice 
came  over  the  waters,  telling  that  the 
mother,  whose  image  was  enshrined  within 


:v  '  . 


r'   •! 


in 


'I 


224 


MAKGAKET   ELIZABETil. 


his  heart,  had  gone  to  dwell  with  Him 
"whom,  having  not  seen,  she  loved."  Bit- 
terly came  that  message  from  afar,  yet  he 

"  Stood  up  in  broken  heartedness, 

And  wrought  until  his  Master  call'd  him." 

Her  voice  was  hushed  forever,  yet  meek- 
ly lifting  his  eye'?  to  the  blue,  glorious 
heaven  above  him,  he  breathed,  "The 
Lo7xl  watch  between  me  and  thee  when  we 

are  absent  one  from  another, '^^ 

*        ^        *        ^        ^        -H-         * 

It  was  a  calm,  bright  evening  in  sum- 
mer, and  as  the  sun  was  setting  on  the 
broad  Pacific,  the  sound  of  lawless  strife 
and  violence  echoed  over  tlie  solemn,  mel- 
ancholy main.  Short,  but  fearful,  was  the 
conflict  for  life,  and. when  there  came  that 
low  wail  of  agony,  as  the  unshackled  soul 
left  its  tortured  tenement,  the  shores  of 
Erromanga  held  a  lifeless  form,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  martyr  missionary  bowed  be- 
fore the  everlasting  throne.  Yet  raptur- 
ous were  the  solemn  tones  that  went  up  to 
Him  who  liveth  for  evermore,  as  the  moth- 

rt>.      -rTTV./^     •%rrn¥r\\\c\f\      ■fV/-\Tn      1lf>l»     InOfVl       O*  inn  0119 


Him 
Bit- 

et  he 


aeek- 
>rious 

in  WG 

siim- 
n  the 
strife 
,  mel- 
as  the 
e  that 
i  soul 
:*es  of 
d  the 
3d  be- 
aptur- 
;  up  to 
moth- 

nrinna 


SABBATH   ECHOES. 


225 


home  for  his  coming,  mingled  her  chant- 
ings  with  his  exultant  song  of  victory. 

How  beautiful  it  is  for  man  to  die 
Upon  the  walls  of  Zion !  to- be  call'd, 
Like  a  watch-worn  and  weary  sentinel, 
To  put  his  armor  off  and  rest  in  heaven ! 
January  2,  1854. 


-♦ — 


SABBATH   ECHOES. 

The  Sabbath  is  a  holy  and  beautiful  island,  cut  off  from  the  con- 
tinent of  eternity,  and  thrown  down  into  the  stream  of  time.— 
Kev.  J.  Gumming,  D.  D. 

Ay!  holy  and  beautiful  has  it  ever  been. 
Bright  indeed  must  have  been  the  first 
Sabbath  of  the  world,  when  this  earth 
glittered,  like  a  thing  of  life,  in  the  smile 
of  the  Omnipotent;  and  though  by-gone 
centuries  have  flung  their  shadow  on  the 
track  of  time  since  then,  and  sin,  and 
death,  and  desolation  have  graven  their 
fearful  tracings  on  the  brow  of  a  scathed 
and  guilty  world,  and  earth  is  but  the 
glorious  wreck  of  what  it  then  was ;  still, 
amid  the  din,  and  rush,  and  strife  that 
shroud  us  as  we  journey  along  life's  paths, 


226 


MARGARET  ELIZABETH. 


li 


!  I 


amid  its  anguish  and  its  revelry,  the  Sab- 
bath is  yet  to  us  an  ever-holy  and  beauti- 
ful thing. 

Long  has  the  wail  of  stricken  humanity 
gone  up  into  the  ear  of  the  Unsleeping, 
and  until  the  shadows  of  the  long,  dark 
ni^ht  of  time  shall  flee  before  the  radiance 
of  the  millennial  morning,  thus  shall  it 

ever  be. 

Yet  earth's  incense  hath  not  been  all  of 
woe ;  in  every  age  and  clime  the  melody 
of  thanksgiving,  the  offering  of  joy  and 
praise,  hath  ascended  from  redeemed  and 
sanctified  man,  and  mingled  with  the 
chantings  of  the  choir  of  God.  Those 
tones  shall  thrill  yet  higher  through  the 
unchanging  cycles  of  eternity ;  then  only 
shall  a  fitting  tribute  of  praise  be  rendered 
for  these  our  earthly  Sabbaths ;  and  when 
all  earth's  myriads  shall  be  gathered  to- 
gether in  the  brightness  of  a  home  where 
change  hath  not  a  part,  then  shall  the  song 
of  praise  pour  forth  from  mortal  lips,  such 
as  ear  hath  never  caught  before ;  then,  and 
not  till  then,  in  the  light  of  that  one  eter- 
nnl  Sabbath,  shall  we  read  aright  \he  pre- 


SABBATH  ECHOES. 


227 


Sab- 
auti- 


anity 

ping? 
dark 

iance 

all  it 

all  of 
elody 
J  and 
i  and 
1  the 
Those 
h  the 
I  only 
dered 
when 
3d  to- 
where 


3  song 
5,  such 
n,  and 
3  eter- 
e  pre- 


ciousness  of  the  boon  bestowed  in  the  sa- 
cred time,  severed  from  a  hfe  of  w^astins: 
care  and  turmoil,  and  given  us,  that  by  its 
aid  we  may  draw  nearer  to  the  gates  of 
that  "  continuing  city,"  of  which  tlie  Lamb 
is  the  light  thereof. 

But  there  are  lands  on  which  no  Sab- 
bath sun  has  ever  risen.  Glorious  are 
they  in  their  loveliness ;  bright  in  the 
ricli,  tropical  beauty  that  sleeps  on  every 
leaf  and  flower;  yet  darkness  shrouds  them 
as  a  fearful  pall,  for  the  name  of  God  has 
never  echoed  there.  They  w^ho  dwell 
therein  have  never  heard  of  Jesus,  and  on 
them  "  the  light  of  the  glorious  Gospel" 
hath  never  shone.  They  "  sit  yet  in  dark- 
ness and  in  the  land  of  the  shadow  of 
death,"  and  thus  they  wander  on  through 
life,  heedless  and  imfearing,  until,  when 
the  solemn  surgings  of  the  river  of  death 
shall  break  upon  the  bewildered  ear,  the 
trembling  spirit  shall  wake  to  see  the  dream 
of  life  vanishing,  and  to  find  no  refuge 
from  the  wrath  of  God. 

On  us  the  light  of  immortality  hath 
arisen.     We  claim  "Him  who  dwelleth  in 


I 


?  ' 


t 


? 
i^ 


i  , 


U 


-»!  ■; 


'i 


228 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


light  which  no  man  can  approach"  as  our 
Father,  and  the  Prince  of  Peace  as  our 
Saviour.  We  believe  that  all  the  tribes 
of  earth,  alike  in  the  burning  plains  of 
India  and  the  frozen  steppes  of  Siberia, 
are  our  brethren,  yet  they  journey  on  to 
death,  and  we  live  moveless  and  uncon- 
cerned. Life  spreads  her  witching  dreams 
before  us,  and  we  revel  in  them,  in  all  tlie 
buoyancy  of  youth  and  hope,  while  every 
moment,  as  it  rushes  on  to  join  the  years  be- 
fore the  flood,  sweeps  from  earth  and  all 
its  fading  visions,  those  who  have  never 
heard  of  Him  who  ransomed  tliem  from 
death.  The  blood  once  poured  forth  upon 
the  mountain-top,  centuries  ago,  was  shed 
for  them,  yet  they  know  it  not,  and  there 
is  none  to  tell  them.  From  the  arid  desert 
wastes,  and  the  ice-engirdled  hills  of  the 
north,  a  cry  has  come ;  the  isles  of  the  sea 
have  caught  it,  and  all  lands  of  the  earth 
re-echo  the  strain,  as  it  comes  to  us,  borne 
upon  the  wave :   "  Co'ine  over   and  help 

"  February,  1854." 


Etf 


THE  EREBUS  AND  TEEEOR. 


229 


THE  EREBUS  AND  TEIUIOR. 

"  The  British  Admiralty  have  announced, 
that  if  intelligence  of  Sir  John  Franklin, 
or  his  ships,  the  Erebus  and  Terror,  and  of 
the  officers  and  crew  being  alive,  is  not 
received  by  the  31st  of  March  next,  they 
will  be  considered  as  having  died  in  her 
majesty's  service." 

As  a  solemn-sounding  knell,  as  a  buried 
tone,  as  a  dream  that  came  and  vanished, 
so  come  those  words  to  us  from  the  mother 
land,  whence  the  brave  and  fearless-heart- 
ed went  forth,  alas!  but  to  die.  With  the 
memory  of  home  shrined  within  each 
spirit,  and  the  image  of  the  beloved  ones 
that  kept  for  them  loving  vigil  ever  in  their 
view,  they  nerved  the  shrinking  heart  to 
meet  a  nameless  tomb. 

Moons  have  waxed  and  waned  since  a 
calm,  clear  day  saw  gathered  on  the  shore 
a  joyous  yet  a  tearful  group.  There  were 
the  loving  and  the  loved ;  those  who  were 


i;ai».#S 


230 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


going  forth  with  hearts  bright  with  the 
rainbow  visions  of  the  future  to  "  rush 
to  glory  or  the  grave,"  and  those  whose 
eyes  should  vainly  weary  for  their  glad 
return.  Many  a  prayer  was  breathed 
as  each  stately  bark  glided  from  her 
moorings,  and  swept  slowly  out  to  sea,  that 
the  everlasting  arm  might  ever  be  around 
them  in  their  far-off  journey ings.  Many 
an  exultant  glance  followed  them,  and 
little  deemed  those  hoping  hearts  that  they 
had  gone  forth  to  return  no  more  forever. 

So  stately  her  bearing,  so  proud  her  array, 

The  main  she  will  traverse  forever  and  aye ; 

Many  ports  will  exult  at  the  gleam : 

Hush !  hush !  thou  vain  dreamer,  thig^  hour  is  her  laft. 


« 


ff 


o 


« 


Who,  as  he  watches  her  silently  gliding, 
Remembers  that  wave  after  wave  is  dividing 
Bosoms  that  sorrow  and  death  could  not  sever. 
Hearts  that  are  broken  and  parted  forever ; 
Or  dreams  that  he  watches  afloat  on  the  wave, 
The  death-bed  of  hope  and  the  young  spirit's  gra^e. 

^^Died  in  her  majesty^  serviced  Who 
may  read  the  words,  so  like  a  sealing  of 
their  doom,  nor  see  the  beacon-fire  of  b'r>: 
die  out  upon  the  altar?     We  can  fJrnr  . 


THE  EREBUS  ANP  TEREOE. 


231 


paint  the  agony  of  spirit  of  that  gallant 
band,  the  anguish  that  wrung  the  hearts 
of  those  who  scorned   to  weep,  as  they 
grew  weary  and  faint,  and  the  ice-fetters 
gathered  round,  and  bound  them  in  a  liv- 
ing grave.     To  the  cities  of  the  trans- At- 
lantic world,  and  the  broad  savannahs  of 
the  boundless  West,  their  fame  had  gone 
forth;  in  lordly  hall  and    cottage  home 
their  name  was  breathed ;  "  for  them  the 
prayer  went  up  through  midnight's  breath- 
less gloom,"  far  away  by  the  hearth-fires  of 
"  merrie  England ;"  fond  hearts  waited  for 
their  coming;  and  there  were  they,  with 
the  rich  life-blood  coursing  lightly  through 
every  vein,  with  the  strong  arm  and  gallant 
heart,  and  life  as  a  sealed  vision,  a  finished 
drama,  a  broken  echo,  a  mournful  tone, 
the  wealth  of  melody  all  gone  and  wasted. 
So  perished  they  from  earth ;  and  while 
yet  the  shadow  of  tlie  grave  was  on  that 
cold,  silent   wilderness,  fear    breathed   a 
whisper  of  coming  evil  in  the  hearts  of 
those  from  whom  they  had  parted.    Swiftly 
sped  each  white- wdnged  messenger  across 
the  waters,  and  those  in  whose  liearts  their 


232 


MAKGAEET   ELIZABETH. 


heroism  had  founJ  a  lasting  echo,  sought 
to  find  the  place  of  their  abiding.  Per- 
chance they  lingered  yet  in  hfe  in  that 
untrodden  country;  and  even  had  they 
gone  to  another  home,  love  would  fain 
chant  a  requiem  for  the  dead,  and  for  them 
the  victor's  wreath  was  waitinfir. 

Ay!  hope  on,  weary,  anxious  ones. 
Hope  on,  loving,  trusting  spirit.  The  cheek 
may  pale  with  watching,  and  the  eye  grow 
dim  with  tears ;  grief  may  steal  the  roses 
from  the  lip,  and  the  light  from  the  young 
brow ;  yet  hope  ever.  God  hath  lit  there 
that  quenchless  flame  of  hope,  that  despair 
might  not  evermore  crush  the  desolate 
heart.  Your  eyes  may  not  rest  upon  those 
marble  sleepers,  therefore  hope  on.  They 
sleep  a  dreamless  slumber;  yet  perchance, 
even  in  the  gloom  of  that  troubled  hour, 
a  prayer  went  up  to  the  Crucified,  and  a 
light  from  one  radiant  tomb  lent  its  bright- 
ness to  the  darkness  of  the  grave.  There 
have  they  won  a  joy  more  glorious,  and  a 
crown  unfading. 

"  March  14,  1854." 


II- 


ARE  WE  NOT   DREAMERS? 


233 


ARE  WE  NOT  DREAMERS? 

Life  is  real!  life  is  earnest! 

And  the  gi'ave  is  not  its  goal ; 
Dust  tliou  art,  to  dust  returnest, 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

II.  W.  Longfellow. 

Who  that  gives  a  passing  glance  over  the 
fair  earth,  ^vith  all  its  array  of  glories 
beautiful  and  brief,  views  not  in  its  throng- 
ing multitudes  a  w^orld  of  dreamers  ? 
Everywhere,  far  o'er  where  the  muezzin 
cries  the  hour  of  prayer,  where  the  gor- 
geous rolling  car  crushes  hourly  its  votaries, 
or  where  the  traveler  bends,  in  mute  idol- 
atry of  genius,  over  the  graves  of  classic 
Greece,  as  well  as  in  our  own  land,  wliere 
each  priceless  moment  carries  before  the 
everlasting  throne  its  record  of  golden 
privilege,  thankfully  improved  or  re-* 
morselessly  squandered ;  in  all  climes,  the 
dwellers  on  earth  seem  as  denizens  of  a 
slumbering  city.  Time,  in  its  ceaseless 
rush,  bears  down  before  them,  empire, 
and  nation,  and  dynasty,  yet  they  heed  it 


234 


MAUGARET  ELIZABETH. 


-  *! 


not.  Wrapped  in  reverie,  the  reverberating 
crash  of  falling  thrones  and  towers  strikes 
on  their  ear  but  as  the  distant  murmur 
of  the  sea.  They  know  that  though  now 
the  sounds  "of  blood  and  splendor,  revelry 
and  woe,"  may  echo  from  shore  to  shore  of 
the  round  globe,  yet  that  on  some  morning 
when  the  sons  of  men  shall  go  forth  as 
ever  to  their  toil,  the  clear  heavens  above 
them  shall  melt  away,  as  the  dim  shadows  of 
dawn,  and  that  where  now  the  quenchless 
sun  pours  forth  his  splendor,  a  great  white 
throne,  the  glory  of  which  no  eye  of  flesh 
may  view,  shall  stand,  while  a  clarion 
blast,  swelling  "  louder  yet,  and  yet  more 
dread,"  shall  pierce  the  foundations  of  the 
hoary  earth,  and  the  everlasting  hills,  and 
the  caves  of  the  solemn-sounding  sea ;  and 
from  their  depths  shall  the  pale  sleepers  of 
ages  come  forth,  to  await  the  word  of  the 
Omnipotent.  They  know  that  though  now 
life  may  unfold  before  them  as  a  dream 
of  enchantment,  and  the  heart  throb  joy- 
ously in  the  very  consciousness  of  exist- 
ence, yet  that  an  hour  will  come  when  a 
grasp  more  potent  than  the  tie  that  binds 


ARE   WE  NOT   DREAMERS? 


235 


us  all  to  earth,  shall  chill  the  inmost  spirit; 
when  the  cheek,  now  glowing  with  hope, 
shall  blanch  before  the  fearful  visions  of 
the  future,  and  they  shall  pass  away  to 
enter  the  shadowy  palaces  of  the  city  of  the 
dead.  They  know  these  things ;  they  live 
in  the  clear  light  of  realities,  startling  and 
profound,  whose  immeasurable  sweep  girds 
the  far  shores  of  eternity,  and  yet  they 
dream.  Ko  voice  from  the  land  of  spirits 
can  rouse  an  echo  in  their  bosom.  Mara- 
thon and  Waterloo  may  win  a  name  in 
story,  but  Sinai  and  Calvary  are  voiceless 


messengers 
of  Eld, 


to  them.     The  dark  legends 


"  The  love  of  vanisli'd  ages, 
The  trumpetings  of  proud  humanity," 

may,  perchance,  wake  a  slumbering  re- 
sponse from  some  lethargic  loiterer  on  the 
crumbling  precipice  of  life  ;  but  every  im- 
mutable utterance  of  that  volume, 

"  With  the  eternal  heraldry  and  signature 
Of  God  Almighty  stamped," 

which  tells,  that  when  we  who  are  but  the 
dust  of  the  earth,  marred  and  defiled  by 
the  touch  of  sin,  were  perishing,  the  Eter- 


236 


MARGARET   ELIZABETH. 


rial  One  left  tlie  burning  glory  before 
M^hicli  the  seraphim  vail  their  gaze,  that 
he  might  redeem  us  from  death ;  every 
missive  from  the  "  land  which  is  very  far 
ofl',"  falls  unnoticed  on  the  heedless  ear. 

How  can  these  things  be?  Is  there  not 
a  voice  around  and  above  us  all,  reaching 
from  the  "  land  of  everlasting  light,"  and 
from  the  depths  of  that  foundationless  city 
on  which  no  sun  has  ever  risen,  bidding 
us  rise  from  the  fearful  slumber  which 
enchains  us?  We  may  heed  it  not,  we 
may  slumber  on  till  earth  is  fading  from 
our  gaze ;  but  when  the  dark  foreshadow- 
ings  of  eternity  surround  us,  and  the  wrath- 
ful surges  of  the  solemn  river  of  death 
shall  overwhelm  the  trembling  spirit,  we 
shall  wake  forever. 


THE  END. 


/ 


